The Conception of Magic
by 93BNMill
Summary: Harry was a typical teenage boy. He went to school, studied magic, and tried to not think about the madman trying to kill him. With the Final Task of the Triwizard Tournament underway, Harry's ready for a break. Instead, he's whisked away to a cemetery beset by an arcane storm, confronted by the Dark Lord's rebirth. When magic clashes, change is born in more ways than one.
1. Chapter 1

**The Conception of Magic**

* * *

 **Author's Note**

Hello, lovelies! It's been _so_ long since I've updated with anything Harry Potter (I've been working on a Naruto fanfiction) and I've been a bit off-kilter these last few weeks. Sick. A sore throat. Fatigue. However, I did find part of _this_ story hidden away in one of my old Gorilla Drives. It was so good, and the concept was so interesting, I knew I had to do something about it. I'm having a major block with the others because it's been so long since I worked on them. I'll probably have to rewrite a few of them to get them going again. One of my goals is to keep the characters as _in character_ as I can, with a few minor changes here and there.

You'll see what I mean as the story develops.

I've been wanting to write a story like this for a long time, but I never knew how to start it. Now we have one _full_ chapter. I'm super excited to jump into this and I'm also eager to see if any of you can guess where this will go. Though the main event the story revolves around won't happen until the _next_ chapter, I feel this is a good setup for the shitstorm that's coming. I hope you all enjoy the madness of my mind!

Read, Follow, _Review!_

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 **Chapter One**

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The sky was darkening, a promise of rain on the horizon.

Hadrian "Harry" Potter eyed the rolling clouds with a sense of disbelief, green irises flashing as his lips pressed into a tight, white line. Behind him, silence. The stands were quiet, a thousand eyes watching as the four champions eyed the massive, sprawling maze of green. Cedric stood miles away, but Harry could see him regardless of where he stood. The older boy shot him a thumbs-up, grinning despite the tension boiling across the grounds.

The Triwizard Tournament would soon come to an end, but only _one_ of them would be named the victor. It didn't really matter, Harry mused to himself. It was going to _rain._ His gaze flickered back to the sky, and then to his right past Cedric to the other two champions who were nothing more than a few distant, tall blots that seemed to dance like a mirage over the desert sand.

Overhead, thunder rumbled. Harry waited patiently, eagerly anticipating the start of the Final Task. He could see the start of his own task, the dark, gaping mall in the maze below beckoning him forward. As he shifted from one foot to another, Harry tried to control his breathing.

 _'Calm down,'_ he stretched his arms over his head, fingers locked together as joints popped. He grinned, finding relief in the sudden weightlessness that seemingly settled over his once-stiff shoulders. He settled his attention on the glowing beacon in the air, red still, as he told himself, _'Once released, I'll be able to run. I'm faster, smaller. I can do this…maybe.'_

It wasn't long before a small, floating sphere found its way to his side. Harry didn't spare it a glance, the device a means to _'observe'_ him while he did his last task. It was reality television, he mused. Only in this, he really _could_ die. An uncomfortable thought, but an honest one.

Overhead, the beacon began to change. It started to pulse, a deep throbbing orb of red ready to begin its long-awaited countdown. Harry watched it, gaze unwavering. Off to his left, a pale blur vanished down the slope. The part-veela girl had her head start, and already she was putting considerable distance between herself and them. Harry grinned, watching as she closed the distance between herself and the maze within minutes. Things just got a bit more exciting.

He watched as the sphere overhead shifted to orange. His skin crawled, sparks of energy surging underneath his skin. Harry's hair stood on end, green irises becoming all the brighter as he watched that bobbing orange beacon get the faintest, green blush. Harry hopped from one foot to the other, hands swinging at his side as he drew in an eager breath.

 _'Almost time!'_

When the sphere turned green, Harry shot forward. He knew the other two did, knew they would be quick to close the gap between themselves and the looming, dark entrance to the maze. Four of them, one for each Champion. Harry didn't care. He was at the bottom of the hill in record time, lithe body darting through the entrance as he slid to a stop. One hand shot outward, palm smacking the maze's wall.

Grinning, the young Gryffindor turned.

The pathway seemed to stretch forever in both directions. An endless corridor, tall hedges dark and unyielding, reminded him of a movie Harry had once watched some years back. As he ambled his way down the path, he tried to recall the name of the movie. Nothing was forthcoming; the only thing he could remember, aside from godless maze, was a white-haired man wearing eyeshadow. Odd, really.

Shaking his head, Harry picked up his pace. His Champion Robe fluttered around him, the cloth a startling red trimmed in black with gold stitching. The storm was picking up, a cold gust of wind ruffling his hair as he made his way around a bend and down another twisting pathway within the maze. His gaze kept darting to the sky, watching as the clear weather of dawn was drowning under a dark, black sky.

Despite the distant rumble of thunder, everything was quiet. He could hear his own heartbeat as easily as he could feel the adrenaline rushing through his veins. Harry pushed his glasses up his nose, slowing as he rounded another bend. When thunder roared, his gaze darted back to the heavens to see violet-red slash through the dark clouds, crackling and branching out like a disease infecting the distressed skies.

Killing Curse eyes widening as a second volt hurtled towards the ground.

It was a thing of beauty, a deep red that rapidly turned violet the closer it got to the ground. The nearer it came, moving almost as if in slow motion, the more Harry felt from it. Raw, crippling energy. The air was heavy, thick, and Harry's hair stood on end. When the volt hit the ground, Harry felt the impact even as the distance erupted in an ocean of violet-red fire.

Energy washed over the maze, the hedges bowing under its touch. A shimmering veil rushed like a wave upon the earth, visible as Harry backpedaled. Even as he turned, intent on getting out of the way, the force of it knocked him into the wall. Pain cut through him, body held aloft as wave after wave of raw, raging magic battered his body against the maze wall.

Harry had no way of knowing how long the howling wind held him prisoner a good ten feet off the ground, but, when it faded, he dropped hard. Pain lancedd through his leg and Harry shifted so he was sitting with his back to the wall as he stared incredulously at the violet-red lightning cutting across the sky. Magic _weather,_ seriously? Harry scowled, a word or two for Professor Binns rising in his mind.

 _Magical weather would have been good to know about!_ Harry eased himself to his feet, gaze sweeping across the grounds in search for his _Magical Reality TV Hovering Disk (MRTHD)_ but saw nothing of it. Was it destroyed? How were the others? Was _Cedric_ okay? What about the Bulgarian and the veela-girl? He shook his head, tossing the thoughts away. He needed to worry about himself. He needed to finish the maze. The sooner the better.

"Why not postpone the Task until _after_ the storm?" Harry started down the path once again, weaving from one green corridor to another without much thought. It wasn't like he could see over the top of the hedges, and he had no idea where he was going. "No, we have to do the _Final Task_ under threat of a bloody storm with magical lightning. Seriously? Gods, what I'd do to have my broom."

He wasn't sure how long he wandered, only that the turning pathways seemed to go on forever. No matter how many turns he took, he never seemed to get any closer to his goal. Occasionally a spark of magic would roar in the distance, the dark and churning clouds disturbed by hellish lightning. He kept one eye on the storm above, listening to the thunder and eyeing the lightning. Each peal of thunder was followed by a flash of hellfire, each burst of light coming quicker than the last. It wouldn't be long before another storm was upon the maze, if this storm followed the same rules as _normal_ weather.

Harry was relieved to see an opening in the maze, picking up his pace until he was jogging through an open archway. Before him was a massive, circular clearing – and the first sign of disturbance made itself known to him in the form of a spell blazing past his face. Harry threw himself to the side, against the curved wall of the circular space, emerald green eyes wide as his body struggled to draw in oxygen. Ahead, Krum was sending spell after spell at a creature Harry had never seen.

The creature was humanoid, tall and lanky and determined. Molted, grey skin that sagged and hung around its body. Harry rose to his feet, wand falling into his hand as he eyed the wizard and the creature he was circling. Krum was holding his own despite the deep red that was staining his bared arms pink, his lips curled back in a snarl as he snapped something in whatever language Bulgarian's spoke. There was a gash over his eye, bleeding heavily. Harry blinked when Krum's floating, magical camera turned away from its appointed Champion to turn its attention on him. Harry leveled an unamused look at it.

When the creature caught Krum around the middle, Harry reacted. He swung in, spell leaving his wand with a furious hiss. It caught the creature behind the shoulder, sending Krum crashing to the ground. The beast whirled, roaring, and then Harry was darting to the side as its claws lengthened and hurtled through the air. The surprised shriek that left Harry's mouth wasn't girly in the least.

A good fifteen feet of _claws_ covered the open space, the tips embedded in the hedge wall next to Harry's head. As the claws retracted, a freak of nature in and of itself, Harry's eyes widened when the beast lunged for him. He squeaked, throwing himself out of the way and rolling across the ground. He was up on his knees when another spell tore through the creature from behind, an intense flare of heat making the air crackle and smoke. Harry watched as it crumbled to the ground, body broken and crumbling into dust.

Krum stood across from him, cheeks flushed and bloody. The older boy lowered his wand, huffing, his gaze intent on Harry as the younger shifted from one foot to another under that intense stare. A long moment passed in uncomfortable silence before Krum threw his head back, the silence broken by his boisterous laughter.

"I vos surprised ven you came running, Potter," Krum's wand vanished, the older boy closing the distance between them with a chuckle. A hand came down, hard, on Harry's shoulder. The massive Bulgarian didn't miss a beat as he continued, "I vos surprised, indeed! It voud be best if I say thanks, for helping me."

Harry was getting ready to speak when the sky came apart, one loud clap of thunder following another in quick procession. Harry whipped about, gaze skyward in search for whatever could be causing such a change. The wind was already picking up, peals of lightning reaching for the ground. Harry had never encountered such weather in all the years he had been at Hogwarts, and whatever was happening, it wasn't _natural_. Krum was seemingly on the same page for he, too, was turning in tight circles with his wand drawn and ready.

Then Harry saw the sky. The encroaching storm was a rolling wave of darkness and neon, magical light.

Harry shielded his eyes, gaze heavenward as he stood next to the Bulgarian Champion. Krum's attention locked on the sky as volts of intense color tore through the churning clouds, each closer to reaching the ground and the wind howling. When a clap of thunder shook the ground, a heavy, large hand caught Harry as a gale of violent wind picked up without warning. His heels dug into the ground as his arms swung up to shield him from the harsh sting that followed in the wake of the wind's fury.

Harry turned into the older boy's torso, his ears ringing as a shrill, echoing note washed over them. The massive Bulgarian hunkered over him, a solid wall of muscle that was unyielding as the older steered Harry towards the green, trembling walls of the hedge. Harry kept one hand fisted in the other's robe, praying that alone would be enough to keep him from being swept away by the steadily worsening storm.

Tightening his grip, Harry yelled, "Krum, what the _hell_ is going on?"

"A _maelstroma_ ," Krum wrapped an arm around him, an action that had Harry tense in a matter of seconds as his body was pressed flush against the older, Bulgarian student's. Krum was larger than him, several heads taller. Harry felt tiny in comparison, but he strained to hear Krum over the wind. "Magic embedded deep in unnatural veather, Hadrian Potter. Stay close, ve need to find cover!"

They kept close to the wall, the Bulgarian keeping a steady hand on harry as they made their way around the wall. As they were nearing the exit, a pale hand appeared and grabbed the stones of the archway before Cedric appeared, the front of his shirt torn and bloody. His eyes widened when he saw them, then he was grabbing Krum's wrist and helping pull him out of the vortex that the circular clearing had become.

The Hufflepuff was a sight Harry was happy to see, even as the yellow-wearing Champion yelled over the roaring gales of wind, "We need to get out of the open! The storm is closing in on us. We have to _go!"_

"Ve cannot," Krum yelled back as herded them down a corridor, their heads bowed to shield their faces from the storm. The large student kept them close the wall, sheltering them from the howling winds with his body alone. Krum tucked his chin into his chest, voice strained as he said, "This is a _game_ ve play, bound by rules. The Contract vos clear when it said ve have to _finish_ to get out."

"What about sending a distress signal?"

Harry remembered Dumbledore mentioning something about that, should the need arise. If they were injured, they could forfeit the Task and be whisked to safety. He was babbling as much, tucked between the two as his gaze scanned the corridors for a hint of a forth individual. His attention was drawn back to the Hufflepuff when Cedric shook his head, the older boy's voice low as he said, "The staff won't be able to get to us, not at this point. _We_ need to find Delacour. I don't like the thought of her out here, alone, weathering the force of this on her own. It'd be best for us to stick together."

"Ve have to _find_ her first," Krum reminded, expression grim. "This maze, it is as vide as it is massive. She could be anywhere."

Another volt of violet lightning split the skies, and Harry watched, eyes wide, as it came crashing down. It was instinct, that had him turning and throwing his arms up. He heard Krum's sharp inhale, as loud in Harry's ears as Cedric's curses, and then the three of them were hurtling through the air and hitting the ground. Harry felt a hand grab his wrist, anchoring him seconds before a wall of crackling energy sprung up from where the lightning had struck.

"Let go!" Harry yelled at the Bulgarian.

Krum was braced against the wall, Cedrick at his feet. Branches wrapped around the two, an unheard spell one of the two had uttered seconds before impact, but Harry knew they wouldn't be able to keep a grasp on him. He twisted, his hair whipping up and away from his face as the rolling wall of magic came closer. Harry grit his teeth, emerald gaze narrowing as he yelled, "The longer you hold on, the worse it'll be when it tears me free. Now _let go,_ Krum!"

The Bulgarian grit his teeth, tightened his grip for a moment, then said, "Ve vill catch up, Potter."

Then he let go, seconds before the vale of energy was washing over him. Harry didn't resist, body loose and limbs fluid as he was propelled down the path. The storm shifted and roaring, a tunnel of power that whipped him from one corridor into the next like a leaf following the turns of a river. He barely noted how he was suddenly in a march larger clearing, only heard the howling scream of an enchanted cup that was glowing in the middle of the storm. Harry blinked, caught by surprise as he flipped, shoulder hitting stone stairs, and then he was smashing into the Triwizard Cup.

There was pain. Then there was darkness.


	2. Chapter 2

**The Conception of Magic**

* * *

 **Chapter Two**

* * *

The first thing Harry noted, upon awakening, was how his ears were ringing.

The rumble of thunder in the distance drew him further from the black that covered his vision, his mind recalling peels of violet and red and silver in a dark sky. Then there was pressure, bony fingers pressing at his skin. His brow furrowed, a low groan escaping from his throat as his body began to pulse, in earnest, with echoes of increasing pain. Then there was a voice.

"He's waking, Mi'lord," Fingers combed through his hair, brushing his bangs from his forehead. Harry felt skittish fingers brush over his scar, felt the mark enflamed and weeping and how it seemed to cut across his face. It was almost as if the Curse Mark was branching out, spreading to consume him. "How do you want him? I doubt he'll be much trouble, the way he is."

"Have you already forgotten, Wormtail?" This voice, it was familiar. Harry scrunched his brow as he was hefted into a sitting position, his body falling, sluggishly, against a too-thin side. His eyes cracked open, emerald irises clouded and his vision blurry. Then the voice continued, "You have a _wand,_ you worthless swine. _Use it_."

Wormtail, it was a name that Harry knew was familiar though he couldn't remember why. His vision was blurry, so he had no face to go with the name. The voice was familiar, the skittish movements this Wormtail shockingly clear. Harry knew Wormtail, but how? Why the _fuck_ was his head still ringing? Harry groaned as he pushed against this Wormtail's shoulder, rising unsteadily as he shook his head.

"What the _bloody hell_ happened?"

Harry pressed the heel of his palm to his eyes, trying to force the fog clouding his senses to go away. To stop bothering him. His skin was tingling, his scar livid and angry and weeping blood, and he knew that here, wherever _here_ was, wasn't safe. Harry's scar hurt. When was the last time that had happened?

Why did it–

Wait, no, he _did_ know.

It had something to do with Dark Lords and Halloween and almost-dead babies. Dark Lords? Or was it _a_ Dark Lord? Why Halloween? Stumbling back, shoulder hitting a large stone, Harry groaned. He could hear this Wormtail coming closer, but Harry ignored him in favor of muttering, "Merlin, my _head_ hurts!"

Wasn't Wormtail a rat? If there was a rat, then where was the stag and dog and wolf? Harry mused this over in his head, brow furrowing as he muttered, "The stag was betrayed by the rat. The dog was blamed for the rat's crime. The wolf was pissed. Why Halloween? And why Dark Lords?"

Somewhere in the background, Wormtail said, "I think he hit his head a bit _too_ hard, Mi'lord…"

Halloween. Rat betrays Stag. Dog takes the blame. Wolf is upset. Rat vanishes. Rat betrays Stag on _Halloween._ Stag was mated to Doe and they had Fawn. Stag and Doe died, on Halloween, because Rat betrayed them. Dark Lords tried to kill Fawn, Dog was framed, Wolf ran away…Harry blinked, the gears in his mind snapping in place as the fog lifted and his breath caught.

Wormtail. Peter Pettigrew.

If Wormtail was here, then the other person was… _Voldemort._ Harry was rambling in front of the _Dark Lord,_ the man in question the one who gave him his scar and responsible for his untimely visit to whatever place they stood in. The Dark Lord who tried to kill him as an infant, the same man who murdered his parents, the same man whose followers caused so much heartache and pain–

Harry reeled away, eyes wide and skin stinging. A lick of amusement crept up his back, an alien sensation that was utterly out of place with the terror surging through his body. A thin, bony hand caught his wrist and Harry knocked it away with a sharp inhale. His other arm swung out, catching against a large stone that he settled his weight against.

"Voldemort," Harry gasped the name, eyes widening further as a high-pitch laugh cut through the air. Where was the man? Harry's gaze shifted from one shadow to the next, trying to pinpoint where the monster stood. When something brushed between his ankles, a low-key hissing rising to his senses, Harry knew, without doubt, that _wherever_ he was at was the _last_ place he needed to be. "Come out of hiding! I know you're near!"

"Wormtail, I gave you an order," the soft command was followed by a blast of red light and Harry found himself slammed into a different stone, feet several feet off the ground. Then marble arms were winding around him, cold fingers biting into his side. Then he felt an insidious gaze upon him, the Dark Lord's voice low and unassuming as he said, "Hadrian James Potter, how nice of you to return to your senses."

Harry's feet bit into the hard stone behind him, squinting as he tried to get an idea of where he was at that had such ungodly large statues. A masonry, perhaps? An outdoor sculpting studio? Then something was being pushed onto his face, his vision shuddering as it cleared and cracked and warped upon itself.

His glasses. Killing Curse irises glowed, pupils dilating and shrinking. Harry blinked, aware of each crack in the lens as he stared at the man across from him, all skin and bones and limp hair. Wormtail. Swallowing, Harry shifted, attention jumping to see that, no, he wasn't in some mason's shop or a studio. He was in a _graveyard_ and the thing he was pressed up against was undoubtedly a headstone.

Other things came springing to his attention – the unkempt cemetery around him, old and abandoned as it sighed and whispered, was a haunting view that did nothing to distract from the dead trees devoid of life or the vines crawling up stone buildings. His gaze shifted towards the place in the middle of the clearing, a large pool of silver rippling, ghostly, in the moonlight…

 _Moonlight_.

Harry looked up, eyes widening to see a dark sky and a full, massive moon. His gaze darted back to the Reflection Pool, to the elaborate diagrams scrawled around it that was glowing, a brilliant gold color that seemed to make the air tremble and dance. Off to the left was a bundle of cloth, a massive snake wrapped around it; Harry watched as the dark fabric shuddered and shifted, something alive caught within it.

This was the setup to a ritual of some sort, and Harry knew, on some deeper level, it meant nothing good for him in the long run. It was confirmed when whatever was in the black bundle said, "Now, Wormtail!"

The thin, decimated man crossed to one of the buildings, vanishing from sight for but a moment. When he returned, he carried with him a trunk and a massive book. Harry watched as a stone was transfigured into a podium where the book was laid out, the pages fluttering in a gentle breeze. Then the trunk was set down and opened, vials of glowing liquid, herbs, and blades shimmering within.

Then Wormtail approached the snake, kneeling to unwrap what was hidden within. When the man rose, a small form huddled in his arms, Harry's stomach twisted. It looked like an _infant,_ small and defenseless-looking as it was pale and thin. Harry tracked the two's movements to the podium, where Wormtail murmuring to the creature while looking over the contents of the book.

Then, after a moment, he moved to the Reflection Pool. "Are you ready, Mi'lord?"

"Do it."

Harry watched, wide-eyed, as Wormtail began, "Ex quo orbis terrarium et tantam vim abstulerant."

Latin, Wormtail was _speaking in Latin._ It didn't have the force of an actual spell, not like the ones Harry saw in school. He couldn't even begin to guess what the man was saying, only that the Reflection Pool began to smoke and steam as the runes began to thrum with energy. Harry could see the shift in the air, could see tendrils of energy rising as Wormtail continued, "Nunc revertetur, et data est reflexio lunae. Fata esse genus!"

He dropped the Dark Lord's small, broken body. Harry watched, horrified, as the liquid arched up, rising with reaching fingers, for the small form. Silver tendrils wrapped around the Dark Lord's current form, drawing it into the pool without a sound. Despite the pale color of the water, Harry knew he wouldn't have been able to see anything within the arcane structure. Harry's gaze was drawn back to Wormtail as the man turned, gaze on the graves spread out all around them.

"Mors Et Magica, ambo surge!" The sudden exclaimation shocked the teenager, knowing 'Magica' was the Latin word for magic. Before he could try and piece together the few things that did make sense, the criminal wizard continued, "Ex antiqua hac nocte noctibus obumbratio."

The ground seemed to groan and shift under his feet as Wormtail pressed on, "Ossibus cederet patris tui nova nativitate credere terrae."

The ground split, eerie light rising as bones from the grave _beneath_ Harry hurtled through the air to sink into the shimmering, whispering Reflection Pool. Harry knew, then, that this was a ritual of some kind, one that was ceremony and arcane workings.

Wormtail retrieved a blade as the bones vanished, eyes closed for a moment. It was almost as if he was preparing himself for something horrid, though his voice was calm as he said, "Et dedi servo sanguis e venis in mea tua. Pellat morte vitam producant. A benevelle donum oblatum."

Then Wormtail held his hand over the Reflection Pool, face grim. Then his limb was severed, silver tendrils of water rising to take the offered flesh. Harry's stomach rebelled. Wormtail _had cut off his own hand,_ and it looked like the man wasn't even done despite how white his face was. Harry knew the man wasn't done, not when he was turning to him. Struggling against his bounds, Harry watched, helpless, as the man started to make his way to where he, _Hadrian Potter,_ was trapped.

Then Wormtail was before him, setting the knife aside to guide the statue that was _caging him in_ to move his arm, the forearm flat and exposed. His arm was stretched out, like he was extending it to the side, but the binds holding him in place said otherwise. Once his arm was secured, Wormtail caught and held his gaze. There was something haunted about his expression, even as he whispered, "Ex hostium potestatem venit, tenetur ex carne. Vein instructa a tutela ex te fructum Mass domino obscuro eo."

The blade cut through his skin, from the dip above his elbow straight to his wrist. Harry barely noted the pain, more shocked by the way the blade seemed to glow and _absorb his blood._ It hadn't done that with Wormtail. Harry was sure of it. Was it even the same blade? Was it a different blade? He struggled to draw in calming breaths, to not scream and cry from the bolt of agony coursing through his arm.

Harry watched as Wormtail approached the Reflection Pool and held out the blade, eyes wide as the water rose to claim the bloody metal with a loving caress. His own blood was part of _whatever_ this was. His arm throbbed, blood weeping from the gash in his forearm. His gaze was intent on the pool and how it was set into the earth, impossibly deep and silver liquid rippling. He watched the mist rolling off the top and across the ground, beautiful in a deceptive way.

Then the water began to change, but not in a physical way. Harry could see it clearly enough, but there was a charge in the air, something static and heavy and deadly. Overhead, lightning, violet-red-sliver, flashed across the sky. Thunder boomed. Wind tore at the trees, their flailing limbs groaning in response.

Two pale hands breached the surface of the water.

It was so sudden, so unexpected, that Harry thought he was delusional. Then he watched as the pale limbs grasped the edge of the pool, facing him, nails biting into the ground. He could see how the grip tightened, saw the forearms coming into view before a bowed, hairless scalp crowned to expose a hard neck and broad shoulders. A bare knee braced on the edge of the deep, pool-like orifice in the ground, pale flesh lined with swatches of glittering black. Harry swallowed, eyes wide as the bare-headed man rose, towering impossibly above Wormtail

A long-fingered hand smoothed over a hairless scalp, the man's _(Voldemort's)_ eyes closed and lips parted in what Harry thought was relief. It was then that Harry noticed how the black swatches were _everywhere,_ each a complex design that swept around the man's eyes and trailed down his throat and branched out over his shoulders and down his chest. Scales, he realized. _The_ _Dark Lord had scales._

When eyes opened to reveal dark, wine-red irises, Harry felt a tremor cut through his body. The Tom Riddle he had met, in a diary two years ago, he could _see that boy_ in the creature in front of him. Harry could see it in the sharp features, in the slender body and broad shoulders. He could see it in the way this man's mouth quirked into a smirk, the way he glided forward like a predator that had spotted its prey.

The Dark Lord didn't appear to care he was naked. Harry averted his eyes, mortified.

A low chuckle caressed his senses. "Hadrian James Potter…"

Killing Curse irises shifted, meeting with crimson. The man seemed to be tasting his name, his head quirked as if he was unsure what to think. "We meet again, at long last. The Dark Lord and his Prophesized Enemy. A man and a _boy."_

There was disdain, there. A soft mockery highlighted by a cold, dark smile. Then he turned to Wormtail, gesturing the pale, too-thin man forward. The man came willingly, bloodied stump of a hand pressed to his gut as he swayed on his feet. He nearly walked into the Dark Lord, eyes half-lidded and lips white and skin ghostly white.

"You have done well, Wormtail," the Dark Lord praised the smaller male, ruby eyes burning with an inner fire that left Harry feeling sick to his stomach. The man was planning something. When he took Wormtail's bloodied stump and pushed the sleeve back, revealing the Dark Mark, Harry knew what was coming even before the man screamed. The Dark Lord hushed him. "Sit, Wormtail, rest. Your brothers and sisters will come. One of them will tend to your injury, they will see what you have sacrificed to bring me home."

Even as loud cracks of apparition tore through the night, a single thought crossed Harry's mind: _He's naked._

Not only in front of him and Wormtail, but in front of dozens. When they arrived, they were masked and cloaked, but several jerked in shock. There were murmurs of conversation, several gesturing to Harry as they spoke. The Dark Lord stood there, _naked,_ covered in intricate sweepings of glittering black scales, his ruby eyes cold and hard, and he was _naked,_ his gaze narrowing as the flow of people slowed.

When the final person arrived, leaving less than a couple dozen, the Dark Lord's displeasure was made known even as one member swept out of the crowd, a woman, with a robe in hand. The Dark Lord let her slip it over his arms, ruby eyes sharp. When the robe was tied, folded off to the side as one often saw with an Asian instead of someone from _England,_ he finally began to speak.

"For thirteen years, I have been gone," Harry felt a chill sweep along his spin at the soft notes of the Dark Lord's voice, watching, enraptured, as the man spread his hands and turned to face his Death Eaters. The others came closer to their Lord, silent, as he spoke, "You have all come to me, when I called. My children, all so loyal and so _true._ The others, have they abandoned us? Have they _abandoned our cause?"_

 _The man was fucking insane._ Harry didn't dare move, or try to, for fear of bringing the maniac's attention on him. The _dressed_ maniac. All of this was messed up. Harry wasn't sure what the hell was going on anymore. Maybe he had a concussion from hitting his head and all of _this_ was a delusion. Because, frankly, a _naked Dark Lord_ just couldn't happen. Even if said naked Dark Lord was now dressed.

The point was still the same, and Harry knew he had to-

"Twelve years, and now I am back-" The man was talking again. Just great. Harry blinked as the Dark Lord folded his hands behind him, expression stern. There was a change, something different. Harry's brows furrowed as he tried to figure it out. If the man had some goddamn _eyebrows,_ he might be able to get a better facial reading. "-in all this time, it was _Wormtail_ who found me. It was _Wormtail_ who ensured my return, he who had the least resources. You only came when I _summoned_ you, even knowing I was back the moment the Dark Mark reactivated. One touch and it would have brought you here."

Who the _fuck_ would even think about coming to the Dark Lord _without_ a summons? Harry knew Death Eaters were evil little fuckers (hello, _Death Eaters,_ the name was fucked up all on its own), but he figured this group had enough sense to know proper manners. Then again, the Dark Lord didn't have the tact to at least be _dressed_ before calling his followers to his side. What the fuck was _up_ with that?

"Merlin, I really _did_ hit my head," Harry murmured to himself, worried about the obvious concussion. It was so clear, once he thought about what was going on. He had an active imagination. Ten years in a cupboard under the stairs with spiders for company left a kid only his mind for entertainment. "None of this is happening. I'm either having a nightmare or I have a concussion and I'm making all this up…"

When a too-hot hand grabbed his chin, lifting his face, Harry realized the Dark Lord was _talking_ to him.

Harry stared dumbly at him, trying to recall the conversation and bemoaning his lack of focus. The man seemed to be waiting for a response and, like the blithering, idiot teenager the Dark Lord assumed him to be, Harry asked, "Can you say that again? I didn't hear you the first time."

"You weren't paying attention," the Dark Lord's grip tightened on his chin, ruby eyes darkening as his gaze narrowed. Harry would pull away, if he could. But freakish statues and Dark Lords, and all that. Harry settled for blinking at him, his gaze pulled away when streaks of violet-red lightning cut across the sky. His gaze returned to the Dark Lord as the older wizard said, "Killing you will be too easy."

"That's cause I'm trapped against a statue in a graveyard. Course it's gonna be easy," Harry tugged at his still-throbbing arm held out from his body, bloody trailing lazily down his arm to drip onto the ground. He was starting to get numb, where the statue embraced him. He grinned. "If you want a bit of a challenge, let me down and give me a wand. Where _is_ my wand? Did Wormtail take it from me? Or did I drop it…"

Alarming enough, Harry couldn't find the answer. Where _was_ his wand? "Fuck."

"Language, Potter," the Dark Lord admonished; wasn't _that_ just plain weird? Scolded. By the Dark Lord.

Eh, whatever. Harry attempted a one-shouldered shrug. "Sorry. Concussion. Let's duel!"

A rush of magic and then Harry was on his face, his legs numb and his hurt arm limb as it rested at his side like it was better than the rest of him. Snickers rose from all around, the Death Eaters laughing at his less than graceful landing. Harry snorted, pushing himself to his knees, and then he looked up to see the Dark Lord staring, intently, at him. _Down_ at him. The man was fucking _tall._ Or did it seem that way _because_ Harry was on his knees? That was rather degrading, kneeling before the bastard like a minion.

Harry rose to his feet, swaying as he shook his head. "Wand."

"Wormtail."

The Dark Lord stepped aside, letting the scrawny man approach. Harry blinked at him, seeing him through his cracked lenses, and then grinned when a familiar wand was offered. Harry grinned down at it, reaching slowly for it. When his fingers brushed the ancient wood, magic hummed under his fingers and cracks of golden magic danced along the wand. Once he held it, the feeling of being _whole_ surged through him.

He shot Wormtail a sharp smile. "Thanks, _Pettigrew."_

How would a duel with a Dark Lord go? Would they meet in the middle and then walk separate ways only to turn and bow before firing spells? Would Voldemort taunt him, belittle him? Would it be nonverbal spells? Would the man do a dance, first? The mental imagine that thought drug up almost got a laugh from the teenager. _Almost._ Then a flash of bright light cut through the air beside his head, causing the statue he _was_ trapped against to explode.

Harry swore and jerked forward, eyes wide as the Dark Lord said, _"Do_ pay attention, Potter."

The verdant-eyed wizard jumped out of the way of another nonverbal spell, one of his many questions answered within a few minutes. His mind raced, trying to recall _any_ spell he'd learned over the last four years but coming up alarmingly blank. That wasn't good. That wasn't good, not at all! So, Harry did what he did best: he dodged and then he _ran._

"Running away, Potter?" The Dark Lord's voice carried as he made his way into the maze of stupidly tall headstones and statues, each acting as a blockade from the maniac wanting to kill him. His gaze darted to the sky when thunder roared, the sky starting to churn as streaks of violet-red flashed and rained down upon the old, desolate graveyard. Somewhere in the distance, the Dark Lord called out, "Come out, boy. I want to see you when I end your life. I've waited twelve years for this!"

 _You're so gonna wait another twelve years for doing this in a fucking graveyard, of all places._ Harry bit his lip, drawing in a breath as the Dark Lord said, his voice closer, "Your father fought me, you know. When I came into your childhood home, he stood his ground and we dueled. He held his own. Will you?"

Harry's brow twitched. "Right, remind me of the fact you killed my parents? Did your mother never teach you any manners!"

When he darted out of his hiding space, a flash of green cut through the air. Harry hit the ground, biting back a scream, and then was on his face. Whirling, he caught the Dark Lord's eyes as the madman deadpanned, "My mother died when I was born."

Well, what the fuck was he supposed to say to _that?_ "Oh, okay. What about your dad?"

"Wasn't in the picture," The Dark Lord shot another spell at him despite the semi-casual conversation they were having, the man's eyes gleaming with what Harry _thought_ was amusement. The Dark Lord's pace was slow, calm, his wrist barely moving as he hurled spell after spell at Harry. Harry, still not able to even _think_ of a spell other than _Lumos,_ continued to dodge as the Dark Lord said, "Come, Harry, surely you can do more than jump around and run. Everything thinks you will defeat me. I want to see your power."

"Do you want to see my power, or do you want to see me dead?" Harry was sweating, mind reeling through countless spells he remembered doing. He couldn't remember the incantations, though. Or the wand movements. Fuck, this was bad. He could _try_ one, but what if it gave the man a glitter dress and high heels? It would be Snape-In-A-Dress-With-Roller-Blades all over again. "You're really confusing, you know that? Who makes light conversation with their will-be-murder-victims?"

The Dark Lord's answer was another jet of intense green magic that had Harry throwing himself to the ground and rolling behind a tombstone. Sitting up, he heard the Dark Lord say, "Who challenges a Dark Lord to a duel but doesn't actually _fight?"_

Point taken. Spells, he needed a spell. A good one, one that could help him live. He was a Gryffindor!

Then his mind came shuddering to a stop as the imagine of a red lion came to mind. Red. An idea, a _stupid_ idea, started to form as he rose to his feet, back to the cold stone. Gods, this could get him killed. Or it could save his life, if his plan worked. Maybe. Maybe the Dark Lord could cast the Killing Curse wandless.

"Come out, Potter!"

Exhaling, Harry whirled out of his hiding spot. The Dark Lord was across the clearing, Death Eaters leaping through the shadows to surround them. The Dark Lord's wand was rising, the man's eyes narrowed. Harry braced himself, voice raw as he screamed, "Expelliarmus!"

He felt the magic surge through him, crimson light raging between him and the revived Dark Lord who, at the same moment, flicked his wand and brilliant, emerald magic rushed forward. A nonverbal Killing Curse, Harry realized as the two spells collided. His knees locked, his body bending towards the spell so he wasn't hurled away. The pure force behind the Dark Lord's magic was so intense, so _powerful,_ that Harry felt it before the two spells collided. The sheer power that was _Lord Voldemort_ was overwhelming, and Harry knew, in that one moment, he was outmatched even as he grabbed onto his wand with both hands.

He saw the two spells hurtling towards one another, their magic roaring in rage and fury. When they came together, it was like two solid, living forces smashing together. The shockwave nearly tossed Harry back, their magic battling for dominate in the middle of the field while both wizards held the spells aloft. As the green pushed deeper into the red, eating through it, Harry saw wisps of silver starting to rise and dance in the air around the point where the two spells were joined.

Throwing more power into the spell, Harry grit his teeth. The silver wisps were getting larger, ballooning around the merging spells with overlapping loops. Rising, becoming wider, until there was a burst of energy and a flash of light and then there was a dome that rang with the sound of wind chimes and a thousand, haunted whispers. Around them, barricading the two wizards in, was a silvery, ghostly dome.

Harry felt himself sliding back as thunder roared, the sky an intense array of violet, red, and silver whirling in a sea of black. He watched as orbs of light rose from the stream of green, floating in the air as others whirled and screamed, but two rose above the others that brought a chocked cry to his lips. A man and a woman, their ghostly forms wrapping around him.

"Hadrian, my precious baby boy," the woman murmured into his hair, her arm caressing his back as the man set his hand on his shoulder, his voice low, "We're here, now. You have to run. It's too dangerous."

"Run where?" Harry demanded as he pushed against the spell trying to cut through his.

His mother whispered, "The cup, it's a portkey. Once you grab it, it'll take you back to Hogwarts."

Overhead, the sky screamed and shuddered as the storm picked up. Harry saw the lightning start coming down in excess, dozens of bolts dropping to the ground and striking all around the dome. In the hazy background, Harry noted how the Death Eaters were retreating. Insidious magic pushed against his, and Harry grit his teeth as he began to slide backward.

"And how the _hell_ are you here?" That was the question, wasn't it? Harry would be staring at his parents, demanding answers, holding their gazes, if he could. Instead, he forced his confusion and anger into his voice, into the stiff set of his shoulders as he said, "You're _dead!"_

"Pirori Incantatem," the answer was instant, from his mother, and Harry blinked.

As Harry pushed more magic into the spell, she continued, "It happens between wands that have cores that come from the same source. It forces the wands to reveal their last spell. It also gives the dead a chance to cross over, to help if it's necessary."

His eyes widened as one intense volt of lightning ripped through the sky, slamming into the sphere forming from the _Priori Incantatem_. Violet and silver wove in the center, churning, before branching along green and red, rushing forward. Mesmerized, the Boy-Who-Lived could do nothing but stare as the unnatural magic rushed towards him– violet and silver and black-red –with a morbid sense of fascination that wasn't entirely his. It took him only a moment to realize the _Dark Lord_ was seeing the same thing he was, through the raging Storm Magic was howling up a river of green instead of red.

When the raw magic connected with his wand, the wood groaned and screamed before he was _pulled_ towards the vortex. He couldn't let go. His fingers were glued to the wood, his magic ripped from his body in an endless torrent. Across from him, through the haze, he saw the Dark Lord bracing himself, putting more force in staying in one place despite the magic starting to whirl through the air around him.

"Harry, you _have to let go!"_ His mother's voice, it was frantic.

Beside her ghostly figure, his father urged, "Break the spell! The maelstrom, it's trying to pull you in!"

"What do you think I'm doing?" Harry braced himself, fought against the pull. Pain cut through him at the resistance, a whimper leaving him as the silver and violet tendrils building at the tip of his wand unwove and began to circle the wooden instrument to wrap around his hands. "Mum, dad, _it's touching me!"_

The magic surged, whipping through the air so that it snaked around him. Tendrils of howling magic curled over his arms, draped over his shoulders, caressed his abdomen; Harry felt _violated_ by the touch, almost as if the maelstrom's power reaching into him. Into his core, into his very being, that raw and untamed power delved. Harry couldn't fight it off, couldn't resist.

Harry heard the Dark Lord roar his name, saw the still-present rush of green magic that would spell his death if he didn't find a way out of this. Then the Dark Lord stepped forward, the magic rippling and the Priori Incantatem doubled in size. His jaw grit, and, after a split second to decide, Harry matched the Dark Lord's pace. The vortex expanded, the souls of the dead throwing their arms up to shield their faces.

Then the spell snapped, his mother's frantic screams vanishing as the green-now-silver magic surged forward and slammed into him. He felt it seeping through his skin, felt it pushing past muscle and bleeding into his veins. He was cold and burning, senses deadened and overly heightened. He could _feel_ the raw power that was the maelstrom rushing into him, could feel sparks of cold and hatred and fragmented fury cutting into his very being.

Black magic surged at the heart of the maelstrom's power, black magic howled. It was ice, when it flowed into his body. His stomach cramped, heaving at the intrusion his body was undergoing, and his legs gave out. Ghostly hands caught him as he fell, his father's face contorted with a mix of rage and deep, heart-breaking concern. His mother combed her fingers through his hair.

 _"…run away, Harry,"_ Harry focused on her voice, trying to see what she was saying. Tried to hear her voice as the world tilted and pulsed, his vision blurring. Then she was grabbing his face between her hands, silver hair falling like a veil around him. "It's time. You must _go,_ my precious boy. _Go!"_

Lightning crashed down around him on all sides, the earth burning with hellish, violet-black fire as he turned. The Cup, where was it? Green eyes darted across the ground as the Dark Lord roared his name in the background, but Harry paid him no mind as he spotted his target. In a final burst of power, Harry was on his feet and racing across the ground. When the Dark Lord roared, magic hurtling through the air at his back, Harry fell upon the Goblet of Fire and vanished in a whirl of magic.

* * *

 **Author's Note**

First off, it wasn't my intention for this chapter to be so damn _long._ I had the ending wrote out and the beginning and a few scenes in the middle, but it took so long to get them all connected. Which is how we ended up with a chapter that's shy of ten pages long. I know parts of this might be boring, considering it's a resurrection scene (not easy to write and I redid the entire 'Volde Comes Back' a dozen times before settling on this one), but I hope it wasn't terribly bad. Harry has a sense of humor. I also think his brain might have shut down from shock, frankly, which might explain the smartass comments.

This chapter is _ungodly_ long, but I hope some of you enjoyed it. It took _forever_ to write it. It's midnight, when I'm writing this last little section. I've been up since six this morning. I'm so _tired._ So if there's any grammical errors, I apologize. I'm only human and I fixed what errors I could find (and there were a lot). A few of you pointed out a few issues in the first chapter. I'll get back to that and fix them soon enough. Just not tonight. Too damn tired for that.

And don't forget, my lovelies: _favorite, follow,_ _ &_ _review!_


	3. Chapter 3

**The Conception of Magic**

* * *

 **Chapter Three**

* * *

People were yelling and screaming and being _too damn loud._

Harry knew, in that moment, that he really _did_ have a concussion. Or he did now, if he hadn't before. And there weren't any more naked Dark Lords. The raven-haired teen shook himself off, blinking, disorientated, stomach cramping, skin burning, and good _god,_ what the fuck was Dumbledore _wearing?_

The teenager stared at his Headmaster as the man rushed to his side, and, gods, the man was so _tall._ He loomed over him, a giant amongst men. When had he gotten so tall? Why was he wearing an _orange robe,_ for the love of all that's good and holy? Harry stared up at the man, not quite sure how his Headmaster managed to get so tall until Dumbledore was bending over, his too-long fingers wrapping around his wrist.

"Hadrian, my boy," the man was kneeling, then, and he wasn't so tall. Others were rushing forward, his Head of House (what's her name? Why couldn't he remember her name?) practically flying over the ground while his two best friends stumbled in her wake. When his gaze shifted back to Dumbledore, he finally realized Dumbledore wasn't overly tall. Harry was lying on the ground, or was lying down (he was sitting up, now, and Dumbledore was holding his hand – like, _what the fuck?)_ and his mind was heavy.

As the others neared, Harry whispered, "He's back, Dumbledore. Voldemort, he's back."

Twinkling blue eyes widened, his lips opening as Harry whimpered out, _"And he was naked!"_

"What?" Dumbledore's eyes were wide, the blue so pretty that Harry stared. Blue like a clear sky, such a pretty shade. Then the Headmaster's question settled in as Hermione dropped to her knees beside him, the other three Champions rushing across the grounds towards them as Harry said, "He came back. _Fancy_ ritual. _Lots_ of Latin. Didn't understand a god _damn word_ of it. Then he was _there,_ and he was _naked."_

Harry reached for Hermione, grabbing her shoulders as he rose to his knees. "I'm _scarred!"_

He felt like he was going to be sick, too. His entire body was thrumming with potent magic, the storm still rolling overhead. It was stiller, though. Calmer. Hermione caught his elbows in her hands, eyes wide as Harry swayed. Dumbledore set a hand on his shoulder, voice low as he said, "We should get Mr. Potter to the infirmary, for the time being. I fear he may have hit his head."

"Oh, I hit my head alright," Harry said as he stood, body pitching to the side. _"Twice._ Which one of you bastards turned the Triwizard Cup into a portkey? Cause landing in a _graveyard_ isn't okay. _Naked._ "

"You were naked?" Hermione echoed, confused.

Harry groaned. "No, _I_ wasn't naked. Weren't you paying attention? The _Dark Lord_ was naked!"

"Oh, here we go again," Ron sighed, walking with them. Harry tossed a hostile look at his friend, not quite sure he liked his tone of voice. Ron saw the look and rolled his eyes, a snicker leaving his mouth before he continued, "Harry, here, _hates_ nudity. Won't shower with the team. Didn't you know that, Hermione?"

"I don't _hate_ it, Ron," Harry shot back, swinging towards his redheaded friend. Ron darted to the side, and Harry lost his footing just as strong arms caught him. He grasped a strong forearm as he leveled a harsh look on the ginger as he said, "I don't _like_ being naked in front of others. Invasion of privacy."

Above him, someone laughed. "This vas not the conversation ve thought ve vould hear."

Harry grinned, seeing the large Bulgarian. He swung an arm around him, Killing Curse eyes gleaming with happiness as he said, "You're alive! And when you let me go, I fell on the Cup. It was a portkey!"

Cedric was at their side, helping push him along as Krum said, "So I see. You came from nowhere."

"I _went_ to nowhere!" Nowhere Graveyard, Resurrection of Dark Lords in all Their Naked, Scaly Glory. He laughed at the thought, then started coughing as pain laced through his body. His arm wrapped around his middle, a groan leaving him as he muttered, "I also got struck by magic lightning and some black mojo."

When Krum scooped him off the ground, no one complained. Harry kept his arms around his middle, bile rising in his throat as his chest began to burn and his ears began to ring. Eyes half-lidded, he tried to keep his gaze on his friends – on Hermione's bushy, hip-length hair, on Ron's tall and lanky form, on Cedric's mop of brown hair and fidgety hands, on Krum's _fucking beard…_

That was just so _weird,_ that the Bulgarian had a beard. He was _seventeen!_ What did it feel like? Harry narrowed his eyes at the facial hair, wondering if it was rough and course or if it was soft. Did he have to _comb_ it? When he reached up and rubbed the edge of the older boy's chin, Harry barely noticed the incredulous look he was getting.

Rough it was. Kind of scratchy. Huh. _Beards._ Krum's wasn't a _thick_ beard, but it was still–

"Moody!" Harry jackknifed into an upright position, eyes wide. "Where's Moody!"

The man would know what to do with all this random _shit_ whirling around in his brain. The man showed them Unforgivables in class, he was an Aurora, he worked with the government; if anyone would know what the hell was going on, it would be Moody! With one hand still rubbing a scratch jawline, Harry twisted, yelling out to the Headmaster, "Dumbledore! _Dumbledore!_ Fetch me Moody!"

Krum started laughing, a deep sound that reverberated through Harry's body. "I vas right. You _are_ crazy."

Harry blinked. "And you have a beard."

 _"God,_ Harry!" Hermione was at their side, eyes wide. Dumbledore hadn't turned around, but the man was shaking his head as a few other professors pushed the crowd away. Cedric had his wand out, ready to push too-handsy people far, far away from them. Would he _jinx_ them? Hermione snapped her fingers in front of his nose, voice low and angry, "You have to _calm down._ And don't tell our Headmaster to _fetch_ people for you."

He wasn't sure how long it took, but at one point them were in Hogwarts. Then they were in the Medic Ward and Krum was setting him on one of the many beds. The veela-girl hovered in the background, her long hair flowing around her as she fretted about like a distraught bird. Krum moved away to talk to her, laying a hand on her shoulder as Cedric sat beside him.

Dumbledore stood behind Madam Pomfrey as he waved her wand over Harry's head, her brows screwed in concentration. Harry shifted in bed, trying to get away from the feel of magic prodding at him. He kept moving away until Cedric grabbed him, holding the squirming Fourth Year in place. Harry grunted, not quite happy about the turn of events as pain curled through his insides and something dark and insidious coiled in his gut, pulsing and burning and frozen and making his head spin.

Eventually, Madam Pomfrey forced a potion down his throat.

Harry gagged at the taste, shuddering from the taste and trying to wrest himself free from his fellow Hogwartian Champion. Cedric's grip tightened, and then Krum and Hermione were at his side, speaking soothing words Harry couldn't understand as violet-red lightning cut through the sky outside. With each burst of color, the knot of pain coiling in his center seemed to grow. Spreading, infecting him.

Harry could feel the potion in his gut, feel it swirling within him, even as the foreign magic in his body wrapped tight around it. The subtle pull on his mind, enticing him to lay down and sleep, was so readily obvious that he wanted to smack the bodiless substance. Or burn it away until all that was left was a useless liquid huddling in his gut, too pitiful to do anything other than rest, heavy, on his stomach.

The black-haired youth slouched against Cedric's chest as Hermione sank into one of the chairs by his bedside, her hand holding his as Ron paced behind her. Krum had moved away, speaking in low tones to the Headmaster while Madam Pomfrey shooed the veela-girl from the room. Harry didn't even fight as Hermione pulled his glasses from his face, setting them aside as he drew in a sharp, pained breath.

The low-key whimper that fled his throat had Krum and Ron sitting on the edge of the bed, both males looking worried as Dumbledore looked over the results of the spell with furrowed brows.

Headmaster Dumbledore guided Madam Pomfrey from the medical bay to discuss whatever it was the healer wanted to say. Ron pulled up a chair, looking tired and worn out. Harry wanted to laugh. It wasn't like his redheaded _friend_ had to see the Dark Lord return or get his forearm cut open to push the ritual into completion. Then there was the Latin Wormtail had spoken of, something he mentioned with a frown.

Krum blinked, then asked, "Vat vas it you said this Vormtail said?"

As he recounted what happened in the graveyard, Harry shifted and turned as pain cut through him. He sat upright with his elbows resting on his knees, his fingers combing through his hair as his stomach heaved in rebellion to the foreign substances in it. He could _taste_ the bile rising, and, from the way Hermione was up and throwing herself to grab a trashcan, the only girl in the room knew what was happening.

The moment the wastebasket was in his hands, his stomach surged, and the potion was forced up and out of his body. He heaved and hacked, coughing as his eyes burned and watered as that sickly cold feeling clung to him. His head dropped back, and he drew in a breath. After a moment, he wiped his mouth off and said, "I can't remember most of it, actually. The actual words. It was Latin, though, and it was _long."_

The ritual to bring back the Dark Lord was one that was complex, Harry understood that well enough. He had been there, front row seat. Granted, he had a bloody _concussion_ from someone's stupidity, but he was a Potter and Potters always got back up. Or, well, that's what _Hagrid_ had told him. Or was it his Head of House, back when he was a first year? Dumbledore, maybe?

Whoever had said that _(now he was doubting his own memory)_ , no matter who they were, the point in question remained the same. Harry had survived the Dark Lord's murderous attempts at his life _(again)_ , survived a magic storm _(somehow)_ , and he would shake it off _(hopefully)_. Granted, his insides felt like someone stuck a serrated knife into him and decided to play Circus Monster with him, but he'd roll that off his shoulder. It was temporary. There's no _way_ this pain, this foreign magic, was sticking around.

Harry did, however, wonder why Cedric and Krum were sticking around.

The three of them, while friendly with one another, weren't exactly _friends_. Unless he missed a memo or something, which wouldn't be all that shocking. Harry missed a lot of things from simply _'not giving a shit,'_ as a few of his classmates liked to remind him. Potions often ranked highest on the list– Snape was an ass.

On one hand, he could understand why Cedric was still here. They were students in the same school and played against one another in Quidditch. Cedric also had a thing about honor, being a Hufflepuff and all. It was the _other_ boy Harry was struggling to understand. Why was _Krum_ sticking around?

Harry didn't bother asking. He liked the Bulgarian. He felt safe. Maybe it was all that muscle and his height, but the almost-man was a wall of raw power Harry could easily hide behind. No one would see him, if he stood behind Krum. They'd just see a big, pissed off Bulgarian with a beard. Who was seventeen but didn't _look_ seventeen. Who had facial hair, a heavy accent, and deadly eyes that were nice to look at.

"You have a beard."

"Harry," the verdant-eyed teen turned his gaze to Hermione, giving her his undivided attention. She leaned in, eyes hard, and Harry quirked an eyebrow. Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Stop _obsessing_ over Krum's beard. You'll scare him away. Now, what were you saying about the Dark Lord?"

"He was naked."

"Obsessive, mate."

"Ronald Weasley, will you _shut up?"_

"Perhaps ve should start from the beginning?"

"I agree with Krum, on this. Harry, what happened after you were separated from us in the maze?"

Harry drew in a breath, trying to piece together the events in a still-jumbled brain. He tried to _ignore_ the fact the Dark Lord was naked. That wasn't important. Even if the man _had_ been naked. He was sure he would have nightmares about that. Then he blinked, mind whirling backward to when he woke up in the cemetery and not knowing where he was.

He started telling his story, going slowly. About the confusion, the haze, the ritual _(again)_ , the Dark Lord rising, the Death Eaters, and then he and the Dark Lord's battle. Harry slowed, here, trying to make sense of how the storm and the way his and the Dark Lord's spells collided in such a way. He chewed the words in his mind, piecing them together slowly and tried to make sense of the confusion battering his mind.

His mind shifted to the storm, his voice soft as he asked, "What _was_ that storm, anyway?"

"A maelstrom, it's often called," Cedric rested a hand on his knee, and Harry looked up at the older boy as the Hufflepuff continued, "I don't know much about it, not many do. It's magic, though. And rare."

"It's called a Biawac," Dumbledore was making his way towards them, surprise shining in his eyes when he saw Harry sitting up. Madam Pomfrey blinked, then she scowled and went to fetch another potion. The raven-haired teen shook his head, hands coming up as Dumbledore said, "There's no need, Poppy. I think it may be best if Hadrian stays up. I have a lot to ask him."

The nurse left for her office, and Dumbledore, once he sat with the rest of them, said, "I was listening to what you were saying, about what happened in that graveyard. You and the Dark Lord have wands that share the same core given by the same creature. Fawkes provided those feathers."

"My mother, she said the Pirori Incantatem," Harry paused, stumbling over the name his mother had used, and then looked at the Headmaster as he continued, "I don't understand how my wand and the Dark Lord's being brothers have to do with my mum and dad and other dead people can come around."

"It's old magic, Hadrian, my boy," Dumbledore folded his hands over his knees, blue eyes lacking their usual shine. The Headmaster looked so much older, so _tired,_ and Harry wondered what was going through his mind. After a moment, the old wizard continued, "Brother wands are the only wands that can create the Pirori Incantatem, Hadrian. If the last spell the Dark Lord used was the Killing Curse, it is possible that the violence of the spell called to the people he's murdered. That wand took their lives, and, in a way, they are connected to it. When the Pirori Incantatem formed, it opened a gate for them."

Harry ran a hand through his hair as Dumbledore continued, "Look at it this way: the Pirori is a door, one of the few the dead can take advantage of. All the people the Dark Lord killed, they realized what he was intending to do. So they got in the way."

It wasn't _exactly_ like that, something Harry told his Headmaster. He spoke of how the storm had been at the graveyard, like it had been at the school. He told him how a bolt of lightning came down from the sky, that it _hit_ the Pirori, how the violet-red energy branched off into two streams that coiled around both Harry himself and the Dark Lord.

He could remember the feel of the Storm Magic, could feel it slipping into his skin. He could feel the black tendrils it had carried with it, drawn from the current between his and the Dark Lord's wands, and how that dark, sickening magic was pulled into his body. That wasn't something he could describe, only that the storm had _done_ something. He was edgy, his body hyperaware and his senses spread out.

"Maelstroms are rare," Dumbledore stood, paced between the students.

Krum and Cedric didn't look impressed, the larger of the two saying, "Vyatŭr na Promyanata, my people call it. The Vind of Change. A storm of magic and chaos."

Harry blinked. _"What's_ it called?"

"Vyatŭr na Promyanata," Krum repeated, then he grinned. "Khaos Vyatŭr, among the Council." "What's the second mean?" "Chaos Vind," Krum stood, stretching. "Red is the color of chaos, of change."

Ironic that the color of his House, Gryffindor, was red and gold. Cedric seemed to be thinking the same thing, if the grin on his face was anything to go off of. Harry pointed this out as Ron chuckled and their bushy-haired friend rolled her eyes _(though there was a smile there, albeit a small one)_. Chaos Winds, a thing which caused change. What kind of change? And what the _fuck_ was a Biawac? This question he threw towards the Headmaster, confused thoroughly by all the different names for a magic storm.

"A Biawac is a storm of magic, something that can sever the link between body and soul."

That wasn't comforting. _At all._ Harry ran a hand through his hair, ignoring how Dumbledore shooed the students from the infirmary. Once the dark-haired teenager was by himself, his back resting against the headboard, he let himself process what was happening. Let his mind welcome the pain, tried to pinpoint where it was and if it was moving. His eyes were half-lidded, his thoughts drawing inwards as Krum's words began to swirl in his mind. Chaos Wind. Magic Wind. Wind of _Change._ Ominous, the last title was something of a warning. How would it change him, if it was in his body? Was that why Pomfrey was in her office, the lights still on? He could see the golden glow under the door, see her shadow as she paced.

Bulgarian was a mouthful. He knew Krum spoke another language other than English, given his accent, but to _hear_ him speaking Bulgarian was something else. Gods, his chest was hurting. He pressed his hand against his sternum, pressing against the skin there with his fingers with more force than necessary. His nails bit into his skin as a sheen of sweat started to build across his skin, his ears ringing and his mouth dry. When he exhaled, it sounded almost like he was underwater. There was a faint echoing, everything slowly becoming muffled as he rested with his back to the infirmary bed's headboard.

As his eyes closed, he could see the graveyard in his mind.

He saw rivers of crimson and emerald, the two colliding and forming a silver vortex that pushed up and out. He could see the dome, could feel it washing over him. He could see the shadows and the mist, could hear the dark laughter of Death Eaters and smell the old, wet scent of earth and decay. Inwardly, he _knew_ he wasn't going to get the answers he was seeking as the scene flashed behind his mind's eye.

Where did that leave him? He was trapped in a bed, Dumbledore was only interested in the Dark Lord, not in the storm that had caught the man, and Harry himself, by surprise. Harry knew he couldn't really explain how the Maelstrom's power had flowed into him, that he could feel it in his body even as he tried to rest and breath and not curl up into a ball. His eyes began to sting, a sharp, harsh breath leaving him.

He refused to cry.

Harry pushed the sheets off his legs and stood, his mind feeling clearer and calmer now that the worst of the concussion was gone. He could make due with blurry vision if it meant he could get out of the infirmary, if he could wander the halls and not go crazy from the feeling of raw, electric magic wrecking his insides. He left, right through the doors, and made his way, barefoot, through the halls.

It was late, the windows dark. Harry didn't mind. His mind shifted to Ron and Hermione, knowing, in his own way, the redhead would likely be relating a few of Harry's 'No Nudity' policies that had sprung up over the years. He wasn't expecting to walk into the two of them when he turned a corner, though, from the looks on their faces, or lack thereof, he knew they weren't surprised.

When he spied the Marauder's Map in Hermione's hands, he knew why. His eyebrow arched, seeing them, and the bushy-haired witch rolled her eyes. Ron glanced at the map before saying, "If we don't want Mrs. Norris catching us, we'd better get moving."

Harry followed, silent. He wasn't sure what to say, knowing soon the term would be over and he would be on his way to the Dursleys. His stomach churned at the thought, and he felt ill and very unhappy. A few months at the Dursleys was a few months too long. His expression must have shown on his face because Hermione linked an arm with his, voice soft as she asked, "Are you feeling well enough to be up?"

Harry considered the question. "I can't sleep, not right now."

He was tired, but he couldn't rest. Not when magic hummed under his skin, not when it knotted and coiled in his gut, not when it was pumping within his heart and flowing through his veins. His magic and not his magic. Familiar and foreign. His skin was crawling from the feelings washing through his body, a constant undercurrent of pain firing through his veins and bones and the very fibers of his being.

He was changing, if the names of the storm were any indication.

How, he didn't know. Harry was aware of the pain and the magic in him, his insides breaking apart. He let himself be led by his friends, his gaze drifting to the Marauder's Map and the dozens of lines and dots covering it _(though most of those dots were confined four different locations, depending on which House they were a part of)_ with renewed interest. Then it fell on the DADA office where Alastor Moody and one Bartemius Crouch Junior resided, his professor unmoving while Junior paced wildly.

Harry pulled Ron and Hermione to a stop, taking the map from them. Then, after a moment, he said, "I think there's an intruder in the school. See here? That's not normal."

"Bartemius Crouch Junior," Hermione rolled the name off her tongue, eyebrows furrowed.

Ron was also frowning, though more in confusion than intense thought. Then, after a moment, Hermione let out a short sound of exclamation before saying, "That's _impossible!_ Bartemius Crouch Junior's _dead!"_

"So was Peter Pettigrew," Harry reminded her, waving the map under her nose. "The map doesn't lie."

Harry and his friends watched Bartemius Junior pacing, and the closer they got to the DADA office, to where Mad-Eye Moody and his supposedly dead visitor resided, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that they were about to walk into something they weren't prepared for. He slowed enough to catch Ron and Hermione's attention, the two slowing and closing the space between themselves and Harry's sides.

Exhaling, Harry murmured, "I don't like this, but I'd rather confront this now than giving a dead-man a chance to run."

Hermione inclined her head. "That makes sense, despite the risks. One of us should go to Dumbledore."

"For what?" Ron snapped, blue eyes narrowing.

Harry hummed his agreement. "He hasn't been all that helpful, Hermione. He wouldn't even listen to what I had to say about the resurrection."

Her lips pressed into a firm line. Harry already knew where her mind was turning, knew she was thinking of this being a trap (or something very dangerous) and the three of them shouldn't be sticking their necks out. An adult should handle something like this, given the fact a _dead man_ was in the room they were closing in on. Her fingers tapped a rhythm against her thigh.

"Merlin, Harry, neither of us are going to leave," Hermione ran a hand through her hair, pulling it up and tying it off with ease. Harry grinned, inwardly crowing in triumph. Her gaze was stern as she said, "Keep your wand within reach and dunk for cover the moment the situation turns hostile."

Harry didn't bother to respond, not when he stepped up to the door and knocked. He tucked the map into his pocket, wincing when he heard a crash and then the stomp of a peg-leg against the floor. Then the door was open and Mad-Eye was staring down at him, magical eye whirling, and Harry held that gaze without flinching. He did offer the eccentric teacher a grin, wondering if Mad-Eye Moody was sitting and talking to the unexpected visitor before he and his friends came knocking. Once the crazy professor stepped aside to let them in, Harry's gaze swept over the room.

There wasn't anyone else in the room. He blinked, knowing 'Bartemius Crouch Junior' had been on the map seconds before they entered the room. Granted, he could have escaped to the back rooms. He made his way deeper into the room as Hermione apologized for the late-night visit. Mad-Eye's laughter was sharp but genuine, almost warm and inviting.

"Not at all," Mad-Eye was saying as he limbed after them, gesturing them up the stairs to the sitting room where Mad-Eye _had_ been sitting in, eerily still, minutes before. Once through the door, Harry noted there wasn't a sign of another person in the room even as Mad-Eye said, "I don't have drinks or snacks for guests, this late at night. What brings you three to my room?"

Harry sat, his gaze landing on the man. "What do you think of the storm during the Last Trial?"

Mad-Eye blinked his one good eye, then leaned into his own chair. "Interesting question, Harry. Do you know what it is?"

Harry mentioned the name Dumbledore gave it before listing the ones Krum had provided, sticking to their English translations, with an air of bored curiosity. When Mad-Eye prompted him to talk about what happened in the maze, Harry did. The younger kept his gaze on the older, watching as fingers twitched and tapped the arm of the seat. The short bursts of shifting, small but noticeable.

Exhaling slowly, pieces clicking together, Harry said, "What I really want to know is why you're pretending to be Alastor Moody, Bartemius. I also would like to know where Moody is – I know he's in the room."

Hermione's sharp inhale and Ron's jerky movements in his chair told Harry he took both of his friends by surprise, but the man across from them merely smiled before saying, "You were _always_ quick to pick up on things, Harry. There's a good mind in that head of yours, though few appreciate it for what it is."

Harry offered a one-shouldered shrug with a lazy grin. "You're a good actor."

"What gave me away?" As the question was posed, Harry watched as the body of Mad-Eye Moody began to change and alter, the massive bulk seemingly melting away to reveal a thinner, lean form and a mop of wild, untamed brown hair and harsh, dark brown eyes. Thin hands linked together, a sharp chin resting on the back of interlaced fingers, as the man Harry knew to be Bartemius Crouch Junior leveled a hard, dark look on him even as he said, "I studied Alastor Moody for months, learning his every nuance before coming here in his place. My ploy was so good that not even your precious Headmaster knew the truth."

"I have a map," Harry stated, simply, though didn't bother showing it. He leaned in, elbows on knees and hands limb between them, as he held this man's gaze. Once he was sure the other wouldn't interrupt, and that Ron and Hermione wouldn't flee from shock, he said, "It showed you and Moody in here, which was odd, really, considering _you're_ supposed to be dead. Yet here you are. Why?"

"You tell me, Harry," Bartemius had his wand in his hand, resting passively across his knee.

Harry hummed in thought, blinking. "You're a servant of the Dark Lord. You tricked the Goblet."

"Correct on both accounts. Keep going," Bartemius was the epitome of calm, though Harry knew the man had every reason to be. He was a Death Eater, a powerful one, and he had impersonated a high-ranking man within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. He had tricked Dumbledore, who was supposed to be Mad-Eye's close friend. Harry had a suspicion his Headmaster knew more than he let on, though why he wouldn't act if he _did_ know about this was something to ponder later. "Let's see that mind work."

Harry considered what he knew of Bartemius Crouch Junior _(which wasn't much, admittingly),_ and the events that covered the year. Harry eyed the man, not _feeling_ threatened though he knew he should feel that way. Exhaling, slowly, Harry let his mind work over the Trials and everything leading up to them. Then his mind shifted to the graveyard, to the Portkey, to the Dark Lord's return, and he smiled.

"You used Polyjuice to impersonate Mad-Eye, which means you have him here," Harry cast his gaze across the room, bringing the image of the room to his mind from the map's point-of-view, and let his gaze shift to where he had seen Mad-Eye's name. There was a bookshelf, a desk, and a trunk. His gaze landed on that trunk as he said, "I'd bet you have an expansion charm on the trunk and you're keeping him in there.

"The Triwizard Tournament is a bit tricky, considering you had to confound the Goblet, get my name in there and have it pass the age restriction, and make sure I won the last Trial. As long as I got to the Portkey before the others, there was nothing to worry about. It's a rather ingenious setup," Harry knew they both knew the storm hadn't been part of the plot, that Harry escaping wasn't supposed to happen. What happened in the graveyard was an oddity. The raven-haired teenager frowned, looking towards the far side of the room where a fireplace blazed happily. "He's back, he's stronger, but he hasn't called you to him. Despite everything you've done, despite _delivering me_ to him on Express Portkey, you're still _here."_

Harry wanted to know why. It was obvious Bartemius wanted to know the same, as his jaw was clenched and his gaze was shadowed. When the older said nothing, Harry asked, "If you're loyal to him to the extent I think you are, then why are you still here, Bartemius?"

"Barty, my name _is Barty,_ " the man was on his feet, pacing in wide sweeps across the room. His wand was tapping a vicious pattern across his palm, the man exhaling, sharply, through his name. "Bartemius is my _father's_ name. I'm _not_ my father. I don't know why he hasn't called me to him. I've done _everything_ for him, for his _cause,_ and yet I'm still in this goddamn school!"

Harry watched as _Barty_ whirled on his heel, stalking across the room. "I did what no one else could!"

"What did you do?" Harry stood, slowly, despite Hermione grabbing at his sleeve. He heard Ron's sharp intake of breath, an almost-whisper to tell Harry to sit down again. He ignored his friends as he eased around the table, voice soft as he said, "You did the impossible. You tricked Dumbledore. You infiltrated the school, got everything set up. What did you do, Barty?"

When the young man whirled around, Harry forced himself to remain still even as Barty's hands landed on his shoulders. They were nose-to-nose, the man's dark eyes wild and frantic. "I did _so much,_ Harry. I endured so much, survived when I wanted to die. I'm _loyal,_ don't you see? Everything I did, I did for _his_ cause, for the future he wants to bring!"

The man wasn't answering his question. Harry slowly raised his hands, not wanting to startle the man into a magic-spewing rage, and lightly set his hands on bony wrists. Barty's gaze jumped to his hands, tan against sickly white, before their gazes clashed. Harry ran his thumb over a knot of bone sticking out from under the skin, staying calm even as he felt the coil of _foreign fucking magic_ in his body unwinding. Then it was reaching, flowing through his limbs and settling into his hands.

Harry watched, startled, as Barty's pupils were blown wide even as Harry asked, "What happened, Barty?"

Magic flowed under Harry's skin, wild and biting but determined to be useful. Harry's own magic was pushing it along, funneling it and containing it and shaping it, the teenager consciously aware of how he was guiding the young man into a more open space, closer to the fire where it was warm. Barty drew in a shaky breath, his eyes wide and the dark brown softer in color.

"I was there with Bella and her husband and brother-in-law, thirteen years ago," Barty twisted his hands so long, calloused fingers wrapped around his wrist. The young wizard's voice was soft, distant, but Harry knew he would keep going. He knew it as surely as he knew that his magic was sinking its hooks into the wizard's psyche, that it was _urging_ him to respond. Barty swallowed. "We, I, _we_ had just found out our Lord had vanished. He was gone. The four of us, we didn't believe, for a moment, that _you_ managed to kill him. You were a baby, _Harry_. It didn't make sense. How could a _baby_ kill the Dark Lord?"

Harry knew that wherever _this_ was going, it wasn't going to be good. Barty confirmed it as he said, "I made sure the babe wasn't there, that his grandmother escaped with him before Bella could get past their wards. The Longbottoms, they were a strong family. Sturdy in body and mind, so _strong_ and resilient.

"And we, Bella and me, Rudy and Rabby, we were _breaking,"_ Barty stepped closer, eyes wide and irises bright and gaze intense. Harry stepped back, then the backs of his legs were hitting the chair by the fire, and he was sitting before he understood what was happening. Ron and Hermione looked ready to rise, but Harry held up a hand, careful to make sure Barty didn't see, as the man's knees hit the chair between Harry's legs. The taller, lean form curled around him, voice hard as is hissed, "He was _gone,_ and we knew the _only_ people who could know, who fit the criteria, were the Longbottoms. We knew they had a son born as the seventh month died, born from parents who defied the Dark Lord three times. They would know what happened. They _had_ too, since the Potters were gone."

Harry jerked away, eyes wide, and then Barty was stiffening, pupils almost slit in a matter of seconds, and Harry knew, in that moment, that whatever hold he had on the man was gone. He didn't need to hear anymore, though. Barty had been one of the four who had tortured Neville's parents into insanity, who had broken their minds, and his mind was reeling at _why_ he had done it. The desperation in his voice, in his eyes, as he remembered something from so long ago…

Barty was pulling away, eyes wide as he took in the position he had pinned Harry in. The younger was relieved to have his personal space back, his gaze intent on the older wizard as Barty said, "That magic, flowing in your veins, it's _storm_ magic. But how? It should have already passed through your veins. It should be _gone,_ gone like the wind which carried it…"

Harry's mind was whirling, dots connecting and breaking and reforming. He was broken.

Then, acting rashly, Harry said, "Give me Moody and we won't tell anyone you were here."

He felt Ron and Hermione's rage, but neither spoke up. Barty was startled, the man blinking rapidly, and then he was asking, "Why would you let me go, knowing who I am? Who I _serve?"_

Harry couldn't explain it, not at that moment. He shook his head, lips pressed into a thin line. He eyed this wild-haired mage, the tall build and lanky form. The manic, broken gleam in the eyes. The way he seemed to quiver, a hair away from falling apart. There was more to this man's story, something there no one had heard. An untold story kept close to the heart, hidden away.

"Because you helped me, in your own way," Harry wouldn't have made it through the Trials without Barty, no matter how underhanded the methods or the reasoning behind them. The lessons the older had given him, the tips and firm guidance, ensured his survival until the end. Harry sank into his seat fully. "I would have died in the First Task if you hadn't told me about _summoning_ my broom to me, Barty. I owe you a debt, due to that."

They both knew it wasn't a magical debt, there had been no magic to bind them together, but the older understood his words even as he took a step back. He flicked his wand at the trunk, the lid cracking open and then sliding off entirely, as he said, "I will take what you offer, Harry. I may have helped you survive the Tasks but granting me my _freedom_ is a greater debt I _will_ repay you. Just you wait and see, Harry. I'll be here, when you need me. I'll know. I'll know, and then I'll find you."

Bartemius Crouch Junior vanished after that, escaping from the school and gone into the night as Ron ran to grab Dumbledore while Hermione helped Harry pull Alastor Moody, unconscious, from the bottom of the magically enlarged trunk. He was thin and worn, but alive and in general good health. As the sun began to rise, Harry found himself within the Astronomy Tower, gaze on the sky beyond.

Soon, he would be away from Hogwarts. Unease curled within him, lingering long after sunup.

* * *

 **Author's Note**

This chapter was _so long_ for me to write. I went through it so many times, trying to make it perfect. So if I missed anything, the fault is all mine. There's a lot in this chapter, too. So much _information._ I know a lot of people find the end of Fourth Year to be boring to read, with Moody and Barty and Dumbledore and all that. I do hope, however, you all like my take on it and found it fun to read. I tried to make it as entertaining as possible, and I'm interested to see all of your therories as the story progresses. So far, none have taken the cake (though a few of you have touched upon _side effects_ of the storm magic's influence on Harry). I don't want to make this note too long, given the content above, so let's get to business!

Without Further Ado: _Favorite, Follow,_ _ &_ _Review!_


	4. Chapter 4

**The Conception of Magic**

* * *

 **Chapter Four**

* * *

"And the culprit got away?"

Harry sat across from Dumbledore, his friends on either side of him as the Headmaster, once again, went over the events surrounding Moody's rescue. The students were all due to make their way to the Hogwarts Express in a matter of hours and the man was _questioning_ them again. Hermione, on his right, had a white-knuckled grip on the arms of her chair. Ron was leaning back, arms sprawled over the back of his seat, and his gaze was focused on the ceiling in what Harry knew to be feinted boredom.

The dark-haired youth had no doubt the redhead was whirling through possible conversation topics in that mind of his, shifting from one possible response to another with the same ease he displayed when he slowly, tortuously murdered a chess opponent. Hermione, on the other hand, was reading the ticks of their Headmaster, trying to piece together and evade what the three of them didn't want to come to light.

 _'I let Barty go,'_ Harry kept his hands relaxed where they rested on the armrests on his seat, bangs falling into his eyes as magic hummed and hissed and screamed in his veins. A sheen of sweat coated his body, his shirt clinging to his skin as he said, "He got away. I wanted to ask Professor Moody about the Final Task and how I did, since he was acting as an impromptu advisor and instructor. Moody wasn't there, but someone else was…"

He let the silence drag on until Hermione said, "There was _another_ man in the room. Everything happened so fast. We barely had a moment to breathe before he was firing spells. In the confusion, he slipped by."

 _'Merlin bless her,'_ Harry sat up, shoulders rolling forward and up.

Once Dumbledore's gaze was on him, Harry said, "We didn't think to try and pursue. Ron ran to get you while Hermione and I recovered."

"And you found Alastor _how,_ Hadrian, my boy?"

How many times was Dumbledore going to _go over this?_ It was bad enough it was too damn early in the morning to be _having_ this conversation, but the man's indigo and orange robes were a distraction. Harry wanted to snap that he _wasn't_ "Dumbledore's Boy," to stand up and rage over the fact _he and three other students fought through a maze during a magic storm_. Where wizards all dumbasses or was Dumbledore proving to be a special case? And the _robe:_ what sort of idiot paired purple and _orange_ in such a manner?

Harry exhaled. "The man, before he noticed us, he was standing in front of the trunk. Just _staring_ at it, you know? I wanted to know what he had in it. Needless to say, _what_ was in it was a bit of a shocker."

Gryffindor curiosity, the one thing _all_ the professors griped about. It was the perfect excuse to fall back on, the underlining urge to know what was so important about a _trunk_ that a man, _presumably_ a Death Eater, was unaware when three students entered his _unlocked,_ slightly open door. An open invitation, for a Lion. A silent but acknowledged invite to _'Come In'_ that Harry and his friends accepted.

Dumbledore was _brilliant,_ his mind a thing of organized chaos Harry couldn't ever hope to match, but there were _things_ about the man that was starting to bug him. It took a magic storm for him to see it, for him to understand not everything was _right_ about his esteemed Headmaster. Professor Quirrell and Lockhart were two prime examples of wizards who _shouldn't_ teach students; one was possessed by the Dark Lord himself and the other was a fake concerned only with his own shortsighted fame.

How could Dumbledore _miss_ either of those? Quirrell was a stuttering fool who could barely teach and the other was obsessed with _himself,_ so why the _fuck_ would Dumbledore hire _either_ of them to teach a bunch of students _Defense?_ It made no sense! Then there was the issue with Pettigrew, the man thought to be dead for years who was, in fact, loyal to the Dark Lord. Pettigrew, a _rat,_ who had betrayed his parents and himself years ago who committed crimes _Sirius_ was blamed for – Dumbledore _knew_ his godfather wasn't his parents' Secret Keeper, yet Sirius was _framed_ for their murder.

Dumbledore _said nothing_. Now the man sat across from him and his friends, _questioning_ them like they had done something wrong when he, himself, had committed _worse_ crimes. All _Harry_ had done was let a Death Eater escape, one who was broken and likely going through some kind of epiphany. The fact was, no matter _how_ Harry looked at it, he _didn't know why_ he let him go.

Not in a way that made sense.

At least the man across from him _had_ clothing on, no matter how jarring said clothing was.

Dumbledore sighed, standing. Harry followed his movements, gaze half-lidded as the man said, "I would say you three were fortunate you weren't injured. It is a blessing the three of you had the mind to _be_ curious about what the man had been doing when you interrupted. I fear what would have happened to Alastor if you hadn't found him."

Harry tuned out the rest of the conversation, letting Ron and Hermione steer where it went as he rose to his feet. He stretched, back popping, and then Hermione was looping her arm through his as Ron stood behind them, slumped and tired and blue eyes dark with reigned irritation. When they left the Headmaster's office, Harry felt his shoulders loosening and the tension drains from his body.

"Well, _that_ was interesting," Ron closed in on his free side, their arms brushing as they walked. Harry was content to be cocooned between his two friends, though he was pleased to see a large, muscled Bulgarian waiting at the end of the hall with folded arms. As they reached the large teen, Ron said, "Morning, Krum. Hope you weren't waiting too long."

"Not at all," Krum pushed away from the wall, falling in step with them. "I vas entertained by the vay your school changes and shifts. It vas most enlightening. How vas your _appointment?"_

"He wasn't naked, so that's a bonus," Harry deadpanned.

The other three turned and stared at him. Hermione sighed. "Really, Harry?"

"His robes were hideous, though," Harry offered with a grin, emerald greens lightening up.

Ron snorted, lips tugging into a grin. "Purple and _orange._ I wonder if there isn't a combo he doesn't have?"

Krum laughed, shaking his head. "Is _this_ vhat you three discuss. Your Headmaster's vardrobe?"

The three of them sized the Bulgarian up before Harry asked, "Krum, have you _ever_ paid attention to what that man wears? Some of it is hilarious. Other times it's downright disturbing."

Some of it was beautiful, the colors coming together like a well-intentioned enchantment that caught Harry's attention and left him breathless. Those few robes, they were the ones Harry was always excited to see. Dumbledore rarely wore them, but when the old man did, _everyone_ noticed. Golds and blacks, clear blues highlighted with silver and emerald; the colors and robes were elegant, and Harry wished the senile old man wore those more often than the orange, and green combos he was so well known for.

When Krum pulled Harry aside, the younger teen was curious. Krum wasted no time in explaining himself, the older boy's gaze series as he said, "I have seen many things over the course of this year, 'arry.

"Not all of it vas good, vhich is why I vould like to stay in contact. You need people to stand at your side, to listen to you vhen the adults vill not."

Hadrian stared, mouth agape. "Stay in contact? _How?"_

He was with the _Dursleys_ during the summer and he doubted the tall Bulgarian wizard had a house phone and owls weren't exactly welcome in his aunt's home. Living so far away, it wasn't like Krum could just drop by for a friendly chat – especially with how his uncle detested anything magic so much as stepping on his lawn. Dudley was often occupied with his friends during the summer, but Hadrian doubted the stout teen would appreciate someone of Krum's caliber.

Ron and Hermione were both quiet, shocked into stillness as they stood near the walls of a lesser-user hallway as Krum said, "Really, 'arry? Ve are made of _magic._ I have also spoken with the staff. I have hope I vill be returning in the next year, as an assistant of sorts."

Hadrian stared so more, eyes wide as the older continued, "I vas most unimpressed vith the vay your instructors vould overlook vhat vas going on. You need someone with more _say_ in the going-ons to vatch your back, 'adrian Potter. I am eager to take that role, if you vill have me."

Victor Krum, Durmstrang student of _Russia,_ wanted to be an _assistant_ at _Hogwarts_ to help _him,_ Hadrian Potter, because of his reckon for getting into _trouble?_ Hadrian looked at Ron and Hermione, seeing the shock on their faces as surely as he knew it was splashed over his. His gaze snapped back to Krum as the older boy squeezed his shoulders, his gaze stern and heavy and Hadrian's brain finally came online.

"You're willing to leave _Russia_ to _watch over me?"_ Hadrian wasn't sure if he should be insulted that Krum thought he needed a makeshift 'guardian' or to be so overwhelmingly flattered his face would burn off. It was a mix of the two, maybe. He wasn't entirely sure. _"Why?_ What have I done to-to- _to…"_

Krum smiled, a gentle curl of his lips that make the stern, harsh lines of his _person_ seem softer. "You have earned my _respect,_ 'arry. I have heard of your vanderings of this school, of the _danger_ you have been under since your first year. I vill not stand by and let it happen again, not if there is something I can do to help. I vould be most happy to be in your corner, to stand among _your_ friends. They are true."

Ron and Hermione both perked up at the praise, but Hadrian couldn't wrap his mind around what he was hearing. They had known each other for _less_ than a year, had been rivals for the Goblet of Fire. Hadrian felt the pain sparking through his veins and drew in a sharp breath. No matter what he thought, at this moment, the younger, dark-haired teen knew the older was waiting for a response.

"I'd be honored, Krum," Hadrian rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a tad sheepish. "I didn't know…"

The older boy grinned. "Don't vorry about it, 'arry. Come, let's get you to your train. It vill leave soon."

As the four of them made their way to the Great Hall and joined the rest of the Lions, Hadrian let his mind sink into the turmoil of his thoughts. He gave Neville a side-hug when the smaller, rounded boy approached him with a few shy steps and delighted in how the plant-loving wizard lit up at the returned affection. Neville was an honest soul, more a _Hufflepuff_ than a Gryffindor. Which made sense, since he turned and resumed whatever conversation he was having with Cedric.

Ginny, Fred, and George all came up. They clapped him on the shoulder and hugged them, the twins laughing as they hung off his shoulders and told jokes so lewd that the other girls were flushing. Hermione gave the two of them hard looks, smiling slowly as they shrunk under her stare. It was moments like that when Hadrian remembered why _Hermione_ was the scary one of the group, when provoked.

As if sensing his thoughts, she said, "The only person they fear angering more than _me_ is _you,_ Harry."

He shrugged in response, mind dull and blank as they said their goodbyes to the foreign students (though Krum did haul him into a tight hug, lifting him off the ground as they stood outside the building – the shorter boy pretended not to notice all the looks aimed at them) before letting the professors guide them away from the school. The trip to the train station, and back to Muggle London, was uneventful.

He was shocked to find Uncle Vernon waiting for him near his exit, glancing at his wristwatch every few minutes. The man looked thinner, more haggard, and Hadrian picked up his pace as his gaze narrowed at the man who had been both guardian and enemy for as long as Hadrian could recall. When Uncle Vernon looked up and caught sight of him, the man's arm fell limp at his side as _relief_ flooded his pale, tired eyes.

Once he was in range, Hadrian didn't have time to prepare before he was hauled into an unexpected hug, the arms squeezing his sides bordering painful. "God, boy, I'm glad to see you. Come on."

That wasn't the welcome Hadrian was expecting, but he followed his uncle out of the station without comment. Vernon would talk once they were beyond the range of accidental eavesdropping. His uncle took his trunk and Hedwig's cage from him and stashed them in the back seat, much to the smaller male's shock. When Vernon opened the passenger seat _in the front_ of the car, Hadrian slipped in.

His uncle didn't speak until they were deep within traffic, windows up and AC blowing. "How was your year, bo– _Hadrian._ Learn anything new?"

Hadrian stared at his uncle. "Yeah, I did. Fighting merfolk over a friend is dangerous."

"Merpeople?" Vernon glanced at him from the corner of his eye. "Like…women with tails?"

"Not…exactly," Hadrian recalled the darkness of the Black Lake, the cold water pressing down on him as he swam deeper and deeper into its depths. In his mind's eye, he could recall the dark towers rising from the gloom and the ruins which slowly came into sight. A castle buried in the darkest depths of a lake, a great body of water overlooked by _another_ castle. Hadrian sometimes wondered if there was a story there as he said, "There was a contest, at school. The Dark Lord had one of his men infiltrate. I was whisked away with magic and almost killed. Again. How was _your_ year, Uncle Vernon? You look… _different."_

When Vernon didn't respond negatively to the mention of _magic,_ or the Dark Lord, Hadrian knew there was _something_ going on. His uncle cleared his throat, glancing at him for a moment before turning his attention on the road. A moment later, he said, "My year has been, as you say, _different._ Tuney and I, we aren't sure what's going on. Marge left for the States with Dudley, a small vacation, brought some gifts back, but Dudley's been acting strange since he came home…"

"Strange _how?"_ Hadrian eyed his uncle as the man swallowed.

Vernon glanced at him again. "You'll understand once we're home, I'd say. Seeing it will be easier than me trying to explain. Tuney, God bless her, she's done what she can. She did everything she could remember her _sister_ ever talking about that might help…"

That was a troubling thought, if Aunt Petunia was trying to remember what his _mum_ had talked about to help her own son. Hadrian wondered if something had happened to Dudley, and the rest of the ride was in silence as Hadrian puzzled over the few things Uncle Vernon had said. The man had been _relieved_ to see him, at the train station. Hadrian was riding in the front seat, all his school belongings in plain sight in the _back seat_ where anyone could see them if they so much as glanced at their car. Uncle Vernon had lost weight, Dudley was apparently acting _odd,_ Aunt Petunia was trying to use whatever Hadrian's mum had mentioned in years past as a means to help the family, and Marge had brought gifts.

Gifts… Hadrian was out of the car the moment they pulled into the driveway, ignoring the wave of sheer pain coursing through his veins. He caught himself against the front door, drawing in a sharp breath as sparks of white flashed in his vision. He heard Vernon softly calling his name even as Hadrian opened the door, slipping inside the darkened house and its oppressive air.

Aunt Petunia was rushing towards him as he came through the door, her arms wrapping around him as he pitched forward as an oppressive, sinister air curled tight around him. Uncle Vernon was in the house a moment later, Hadrian's trunk and Hedwig's cage in hand. Neither Petunia or Hadrian paid much notice to the odd sight of the formally-fat-man standing in the hallway with magical items in hand. Hadrian let his gaze settle on his aunt's, seeing the fear and exhaustion in her gaze.

Once they were in the front room, and Hadrian sitting on the couch, he said, "Where is Dudley?"

"He's…upstairs," Petunia glanced at the hall leading to the front door and the stairs. "He won't come out, and he won't eat anything. I don't know what to do, Hadrian!"

Once he prompted her for more answers, she finally said, "A few weeks after you left for Hogwarts, Marge came for a visit. She was supposed to head to America for a few weeks, but her plane was diverted to somewhere else overseas. She wouldn't say where. She didn't want to talk about it."

Hadrian leaned forward, elbows on his knees as Uncle Vernon said, "They were delayed for a month, in this town. It was coastal, a small island lost at sea. Marge, she said the people were _strange._ All had sunken eyes and pallid skin, their hair limp and their bodies hunched in. She called on the phone, at around one in the morning, to talk to me about it. She was frightened."

"Did she provide a name for the town?"

Petunia left the room in a matter of minutes, coming back a few minutes later. "She took some pictures, when they arrived. She had said it was eerie, in a beautiful way. Before they met the people. Here, you should take a look. I think there's a sign in there somewhere."

Hadrian took the stack of offered pictures, all of them in shades of black, white, and grey. Like his aunt and uncle said, it was an island. The first picture was a dock, the water still with only the faintest disturbance from where the plane was forced to land. There was another picture of the shore, walkways spread along the edge of the grass where a few buildings rose at the end of each path. He eyed the wooden buildings in the picture, at how _old_ they looked, and then narrowed his eyes when he spotted what looked like _runes_ etched around the doorways.

He flipped to the next picture – it was scenery, likely by one of the house as it should the dock and the walkways and the boats bobbing beside the wooden, floating platforms. The water was dark, a faint sheen of mist covering the ocean. The following picture was of Dudley on the beach, feet partly buried in the sand as he looked out at the ocean.

It was, in essence, a haunting, yet beautiful, picture. Hadrian couldn't see his portly cousin's face, only the back of his pale head, but his posture was loose and relaxed. His head was up, as if he was trying to feel the sunlight on his unseen face through the fog covering the island. Then Hadrian noticed how his cousin's hands seemed to be upturned, as if he was in some kind of prayer.

The following picture showed a downpour of rain from the safety of an umbrella.

There were _dozens_ of photos like that, of the other people wandering the beach. All the youth, though, they were in the same serene, trance-like peace Dudley's first photo showed. One was a little girl, her hair in pigtails, as she stood on the shore, in the shallows of the ocean, and her head was upturned. Her eyes were half-lidded, as if she was in a daze, but there was something so _tragic_ in her expression that Hadrian felt his skin crawl.

He flipped to the next picture, which was pulling away from the ocean and its dark water to the wooden walkway that was caged in by towering trees that seemed to _curve_ inward towards the bridge of wood. A tunnel of dead and living wood, the people looking small and _lost_ as they walked in the shadows of the massive, curling trees.

The next picture had him pausing, as it was obviously taken of a native of the island. The man was old, face wrinkled, but white and pasty and earing nothing but a loincloth. Hadrian eyed the staff the man held in one hand, noticed how some dark patches of skin showed through the white _whatever it was_ that was coated into his skin. Petunia sat a hand on his shoulder, drawing his attention when she said, "Marge said they were covered in an ash-like powder, that it was something to do with their rituals and traditions…"

Hadrian blinked. Could the plane have landed on an unplottable piece of land in the ocean, the plane had failed in a storm of some kind where they couldn't be diverted away from the land? As he moved to the next picture, it was a group of topless women, one of them with a baby on her hip. They were all wearing a tied sash around their waists, baskets on the ground next to their feet and their skin covered in the same, white paint.

The village was made of huts of wood, each attached to the walkway. He noticed the rune-like symbols on the outside of the house, surrounding the doors and windows, once again. He turned and asked for a magnifying glass, taking it when it was offered, and then grabbed a few books out of his bag. He focused on the symbols, flipping through pages of his books (Ancient Runes of the Old World, provided to him by Hermione when he expressed an interest in the _purpose_ of runes when they had raw magic at their beck and call) in hopes of finding a match. There were similarities, runes he was _almost_ sure were a match, but they looked to be more a combination of different runes.

Hadrian set the book aside, setting a few of the pictures into it for further analysis, and started flipping through the rest of the pictures. Most were the same, though he did stop when he finally found the sign his aunt had mentioned. It wasn't one he had thought of, when the word "sign" came to mind. It was in the middle of the village, a massive walkway surrounding a sand-garden with a tower of stone in the middle of it. Etched into _every_ flat facet of the stone (four of them, pointed at the top, making the stone an obelisk) words of another language, one Hadrian spoke without much understanding.

Words which Hadrian traced with utmost care.

 _~TERRA DE PERI CAVAS SPIRITIBUS~_

The words were as familiar as they were strange, a few making sense while the others fell into dark, uncertain waters. Terra and Spiritibus, Earth and Spirits, but the rest of them were odd and unusual. He knew his schoolbooks might help him uncover the meaning of the words, but Hadrian's mind stilled as a cold draft whirled through the room. He turned, slowly, to see a thin teenager standing at the base of the steps, sunken eyes blue and dead as the young man stared them down.

"Dudley? Sweetie, your cousin's home," Petunia was up and making her way to the lanky teen, all his weight seemingly gone from his once large body. He didn't respond when his own _mother_ wrapped her arms around his shoulders, his gaze focused, solemn, on Hadrian as he stood and rounded the couch as Petunia murmured, "How about I get you something to eat? We have plenty of bacon. I know how much you love bacon, Dudley. Or some chocolate milk? If you're not hungry, there's plenty of sweets to drink…"

Dudley didn't speak, didn't respond to the promise of sweats and bacon. He stared. Hadrian found it unnerving to be held under sense a dead stare, his movements slow as he approached his cousin. Dudley didn't move, simply watched, and, once close enough, Hadrian said, "Hey, Dudley."

The other teen blinked. "Harry…"

When Dudley stepped forward, thin hands curling around his biceps, Hadrian remained still as his cousin whispered, "I can still see them, Harry. Every time I close my eyes, I hear them whispering in my ear. I'm home, but I'm _still stuck there…"_

Dull blue eyes watered, and Hadrian pulled the taller closer, letting the thin face burrow into his neck as Dudley said, voice cracking, "I can't find my way _home,_ Harry. Why can't I find my way home? _Why?"_

Vernon and Petunia closed in on them, their arms curling tight around the youngest two in the house, and as they sank to the floor, Hadrian knew, at that moment, that something had happened. Runes on walls, his cousin's drastic change, his uncle's thinness, their lack of hate…

While Hadrian was fighting for his life at school, Dudley had fallen into a nameless darkness.

Both were home, but they both were at war with something they could no see, could not run from.

Hadrian tightened his grip on his cousin, running his hands through dark brown hair as his cousin cried into his shoulder. Green irises were slowly hidden behind pale lids, black eyelashes soft as soot against pale cheeks as the two adults in their home, who raised and sheltered them, tried to sooth the crying teen who had, finally, spoken. And Hadrian, his arms tightened as pain cut through him and wrapped around his limbs with a cold, blackened magic that was his but wasn't.

He ignored how it seemed to be drawn deeper into his core, into his _body,_ as his cousin wailed against his chest. He held Dudley close as thin hands fisted the front of his school sweater, pale skin, as pale as Hadrian's had become since the Third Task, turned white from the pressure.

When Dudley dozed off, Vernon swept his son off his feet and laid him across the couch. Petunia covered him with a blanket and the two, finally, turned to face him. Hadrian sat in an armchair, fingers combing through his hair as they sat on the end of the couch and on the arm of the couch. Exhaling, he eyed his aunt and uncle.

"You want me to _fix_ whatever caused that," Hadrian watched as they nodded, desperation in their eyes.

Then Vernon was leaning forward, hands darting through the air as he said, "Use whatever magic you have to, Hadrian! Just, _please,_ bring me back my boy…I can't stand to hear him cry, to see him looking like he's…he's…"

"Like he's a soulless wanderer," Hadrian supplied softly, his gaze going to the broken teen on the couch.

Petunia let out a stifled sob. "We'll do anything. No chores, no yelling. I'll tell you about Lilly…"

Hadrian exhaled, slowly. Both his aunt and uncle stilled, their gazes on him as he stood and crossed to the mantle the flat-screen, wall-mounted TV rested over. Pictures of his aunt, uncle, and cousin rested there. He recalled _every summer_ he had, in this house. The pain and the anger, the hunger, the fear, the yearning of unrequited love. He touched last year's Christmas photo, seeing a fat Dudley sandwiched between his beaming, happy, _loving_ parents. Hadrian was without a trace of resentment, his body aching and sore and his mind numb and _almost_ -unhappy.

"I'll see if I can figure it out," Hadrian turned to them, hand on the mantle. "I can't promise anything. I'm still learning. I can't use magic because of the trace on my wand, but my books might be able to help…"

Petunia was up, eyes bright. "I'll give you money to get _more_ books, if you think it'll help!"

Hadrian blinked, watched as her strawberry blonde hair fell around her too-thin shoulders. She took his hands in hers, her nails as chipped as the nail polish on them. "No chores. You can eat all you want. We'll _do anything,_ so, _please,_ Hadrian, I beg of you. _Save my son."_

He curled his free hand around hers, voice soft, "First, call me Harry. Second, _stop begging._ It's weirding me out. Third, I need you to show me _everything_ Marge brought back. Maybe something there can explain what's going on."

He doubted it, but it was something to give the two grieving adults _some_ hope. Something to focus on. He watched as his aunt nodded her head, seeming to perk up a bit. Hadrian caught her hand, squeezing, as he added, "For tonight, however, we all should get some rest. I'll sleep down here by Dudley, just in case he wakes up in the middle of the night. Once morning hits, we'll start fresh. Okay?"

Petunia chocked on her words, a sob working its way through her throat. Then she hauled him into a hug, her voice broken as she whispered, "God, thank you. Thank you, thank you, _thank you…_ "

Once both adults were gone, Hadrian rolled a pallet across the ground by Dudley's resting place and sank to the floor with a relieved groan. His magic coursed through him, erratic and alive and _angry._ He could feel the storm in him, feel it curling tighter inside of him, coiling deeper within the very heart of his being, feel that dark magic drawn in and in _and in_ , and let himself fall back. He didn't hesitate to take his cousin's hand when Dudley started to whimper, the older boy (by a few months) shifting on the couch as if in great pain. His cousin quietened as Hadrian draw in a calming breath, eyes slowly closing as darkness beckoned.

He and Dudley, they were facing their own battles at this moment in time.

And Hadrian was unnerved to realize neither knew what they were fighting.

Neither of them knew what they were fighting. They were stuck, in their own way. Hadrian pulled the picture of the obelisk to his side, alongside the other pictures, as he sat up. He flipped through them, content to shift so Dudley's arm wrapped around his shoulders. Then, finally, he came to rest on the last picture of Dudley standing on the walkway, his gaze on the obelisk, far away, and the other children that stood with him. As Hadrian stared at the picture, he realized the teens, and kids, _were circling the obelisk._

That giant stone with its odd words, Hadrian had a feeling there was something _important_ about it. Why else would it be in the center of the village, a walkway surrounding it? From what he could see, no one had disturbed the sand it rested upon. There were no footprints in the spacious garden, just snake-like etching in the sand whirling around the stone. As his eyes dropped, he frowned.

He'd figure it out. He'd go to the Alley and get books. They'd figure it out.

One way or another, Hadrian was sure he would save them both.

* * *

 **Author's Note**

This story took a very unexpected turn for me. I wasn't intending for the Dursleys to go this route, but an idea popped up as I was writing and this came in. This will set up the summer section of Hadrian's year before returning to school, and what a summer it will be! I'm happy to know so many people like this story, and I am curious if any of you are able to pinpoint what, exactly, is going to happen. Some of the ideas are _touching_ upon what's in store, though I won't say who.

All I know is that it's been too long since I last updated, and I'm glad to give you all a new chapter to read. This one isn't as long as the last, so do forgive me for that. It wasn't going to go on for that long, as the ending here felt right. I do look forward to knowing what everyone thinks, thus far, and I enjoy seeing you guess what's going on. It makes me grin. So we'll end this here, and press onward!

Without Further Ado: _Favorite, Follow,_ _ &_ _Review!_


	5. Chapter 5

**The Conception of Magic**

* * *

 **Chapter Five**

* * *

The days inched by as Hadrian adjusted to being back at the Dursleys.

His aunt was good on her word. He no longer did "chores," though he still helped clean up the house and he took turns cooking and washing the dishes. Vernon often worked long hours, pouring money into their finances as the sole mage in the house poured over his textbooks. Having only four years work of schoolwork on his plate, he knew the likelihood of anything of _use_ being in his textbooks was slim.

It was disheartening, all the same, to realize his fears turned truth – nothing in the books would help.

There was no way of knowing if there was magic involved, if Dudley had been cursed. Maybe he and the other kids had witnessed a ritual of some kind, something that traumatized them. Then he recalled Dudley's whispered, broken words:

 _"I can still see them, Harry._

 _"Every time I close my eyes, I hear them whispering in my ear._

 _"I'm home, but I'm still stuck there…"_

 _Dull blue eyes watered, and Hadrian pulled the taller closer, letting the thin face burrow into his neck as Dudley said, voice cracking, "I can't find my way home, Harry. Why can't I find my way home? Why?"_

 _._

As Hadrian laid in bed, arm limp at his side and hanging off the bed, he began to draw parallels between the desperation in Dudley and Barty's frantic, chaotic upheaval shortly before he vanished. Before Hadrian had let him go. The same brokenness, the same dull eyes, the same _plead_ for help no one else seemed to notice. Hadrian could still feel Barty, when he thought back to the moment when the man had trapped him to his seat. He could feel the tight grip on his shoulders, the hot breath fanning over his face as the older wizard began _unraveling_ before his very eyes.

Hadrian also recalled how the magic in him had _uncoiled,_ how it had seeped into his skin and passed from his own body into Barty's. The man had confessed, in part, after that. Had poured out everything. It was a memory that replayed, the storm magic in his veins a mystery even now. Even as he lifted his hand, calling on his magic until it danced under his skin and spark of magical _light_ drifted off his skin, he could not shake the feeling that the Maelstrom had _changed_ something in him.

A storm with many names: Biawac; Vyatŭr na Promyanata; Khaos Vyatŭr.

Viktor had known a bit about the storm, and Dumbledore had _mentioned_ it, but what _was_ the Chaos Storm? Why was it a _Storm of Change?_ What the _fuck_ did Biawac even mean? Then his mind shifted to Barty's confession, the one thing he hadn't thought about until he was, finally, alone. The one thing which had, he realized, ensured Barty's escape.

Neville was _alive_ because Barty had let him, and Neville's crazy grandmother, escape. He had made sure Neville, as a baby, was _gone_ long before Bellatrix, her husband, and her husband's brother was done _torturing_ Neville's parents. He hadn't even _known_ Barty was with the group. From the few things Neville had mentioned, about that night, the only people who had been in his home where the Lestranges.

So how did Barty go unnoticed? Bellatrix and the other two had been captured, imprisoned, but Barty had escaped. Then his thoughts shifted to Barty's promise, when he vanished:

 _"…I may have helped you survive the Tasks but granting me my_ freedom _is a greater debt I_ will _repay. Just you wait and see, Harry. I'll be here, when you need me. I'll know. I'll know, and then I'll find you."_

.

The desperation was a different sort, the feelings Dudley harbored contrasting greatly from what Barty had endured. The storm magic within Hadrian, the _chaos_ magic, it had _unraveled_ Barty. Somehow. When the teen tried to pull on it, to call it forth _now,_ the foreign magic rebelled. It coiled tighter in him, pain spearing through him and his abdomen constricting with enough force that it made him want to vomit.

Hadrian couldn't comprehend why it wouldn't listen to him, here in his somewhat-home, when it had risen to his command in Hogwarts. He rose from where he was resting. He began pacing, each turn sharp and hard. His hands rubbed at themselves, fingers tapping along his palm or his thighs as restless energy coursed through his veins.

He wasn't sure how to proceed, how to move forward, when he knew _so little._ Hadrian also knew the entire 'Lord Voldemort is back!' had to be dealt with, on top of this new shit-storm, and the teenager was starting to feel stress creeping in on him. There were too many things coming at him at once, and he knew, at that moment, the best option was just to…wander.

Without second guessing himself, Hadrian left the Dursley household, made his way into the darkness of Surrey, and started walking. He also knew Dudley was on his heels in seconds, his tall and _now lanky_ cousin a silent shadow that trailed after him. A quick glance showed Dudley to be dressed in a pair of black sweatpants and a white, loose shirt that once fit him. Blue eyes regarded him passively.

"How is it you _always_ know where I'm at, Duds?" Hadrian had pondered the question over the last few days as he settled in at 4 Privet Drive. His cousin was always in the same room, unless it was nighttime, and everyone was tucked into their own room once it was dark out. When Hadrian stepped into his room, Dudley went down the hall to his own boy-cave and just _stood_ there. "And how the bloody hell did you know I left my room at three in the morning? That's just _weird."_

Dudley didn't respond, simply stared. Hadrian sighed. "Seriously, Duds, how am I supposed to _help_ you if you won't talk to me?"

His cousin moved, walking past him and down the dark sidewalk. When Hadrian didn't follow, Dudley stopped and turned to look at him. Blinking, Hadrian hedged a soft question, "You…want me to follow?"

Dudley turned and kept walking. Hadrian took that for a _'yes,'_ and made his way across the street once Dudley crossed the road. Hadrian knew he needed to start studying the magic he now carried, the storm of chaos wreaking havoc on his core, but he wasn't entirely sure what to do. His brows furrowed; he could document the surges it went through, and the pain it caused.

He could also list the times he _could_ tap into it, even if it was only _once_ so far. The best way to understand _anything_ was to observe it. Would mindfulness techniques work on foreign magic invading his body? Was it even possible to _observe_ the magic when it was trapped within his flesh and bones? Hadrian felt the scowl coming as he turned the questions over in his head, mentally jotting notes as he followed his cousin towards the park shrouded in veils of black.

He closed the distance between him and Dudley once they were in the forested park, a chill sweeping down his spine as they followed the worn pathway. Dudley seemed to know where he was going with every twist and turn of the path, leading even as they left the more _local_ paths and ventured into a pocket of woods that made up the odd little park hovering on the edge of their childhood neighborhood.

The same logic of understanding the magic he now possessed could be applied to Dudley, Hadrian realized when they paused in a circular clearing. It was lighter, in this small glade. The darkness of the woods was almost suffocating as it quivered and danced on the edge of his vision, but Hadrian's focus was on his cousin as Dudley stood in the middle of the clearing and turned his face to the sky.

Just like he had in the pictures Marge had taken, on that _godforsaken island._

"You and Marge went on a trip to America, in mid-September. The plane went down, navigations were disabled, and no one on the flight knew where this _island_ was," Hadrian watched as Dudley turned him as he spoke, blues eyes hard and intense in their hue. Brighter, now. There was a sort of _relaxation_ to Dudley, as he stood there, that Hadrian couldn't put his finger on. Then he recalled the journal Marge had left behind, stuffed in a corner of one of the boxes in the basement, as he said, "At the end of October, the picture of you and the kids around that stone was taken…"

There was a stillness, now. Dudley kept his gaze on him as he turned to face him fully, arms lose at his sides as he finally whispered, "I can still hear them, Harry. Whispers, just on the edge of my hearing. They were there, when we arrived at the island. Growing louder and louder. Then, one night…I woke up before the stone. The other kids were there, but they _weren't_ there at the same time…"

The end of October, a giant stone, whispers in the wind, waking up in a _different location…_

Hadrian turned on his heel, voice sharp as he said, "Let's get back to the house!"

Dudley followed him all the way to their home, followed him straight into the basement where Hadrian tore through the boxes in search of a familiar, pink and white diary. He found it in the third box he checked, and Hadrian took a seat on one of the tables, legs tucked under him, as he flipped through the dairy and the black-and-white photos taped into it.

Then he found the entry, saw the date: October 31st

When he began reading, he did so aloud. "We have been on this godforsaken island for over a month, now. Almost two months, if I'm not mistaken. The other families aren't talking much, all of them worried over the health of their children. I understand their concern in this, as Dudley hasn't been himself.

"He has been spacing out, looking out over the ocean whenever we're on the beach. If we're in town, he finds his way to the center of the village where the garden and sand and _stone_ is at. When I woke up to find him missing from my room, I _knew_ he had gone there. Where else would he go, if not there…"

The rest of the book was empty, after that, but Hadrian understood the importance of what wasn't said and the day it had happened. He looked up at Dudley as he said, "If I'm right, what happened to you, to the other _kids,_ makes sense. If I'm right, I may have the first idea on _what_ happened. Why, though?"

Once Vernon and Petunia were up, Hadrian pulled them aside as he said, "The changes Dudley went through started the moment he stepped on the island, but it _escalated_ on Halloween. In light of everything else, this makes sense. The changes _make sense_ if the catalyst occurred on All Hollow's Night."

"I don't understand," Vernon pulled him further into the kitchen, his aunt at their heels. "Why does that make sense, Hadrian? What's so important about _Halloween?"_

Hadrian stared at his uncle. "Halloween, Uncle Vernon, is the _one night_ when the rift between the living and the dead is at its weakest. It is also one of the few nights were _raw_ magic seeps into our world."

That had been a fun discussion in History of Magic, though it was more a _self-study_ between him and Hermione as their professor was still discussing the same Goblin War he had when they were _First Years._ He knew there were various types of magic, including raw magic like nature magic or _storm_ magic. Or Chaos magic, whichever one wanted to call it. Hadrian wasn't sure if Dumbledore _or_ Krum was right.

Hadrian leaned against the counter. "Magic exists in all things. It's in our planet, it's in _us,_ it's in the air and the water and in the fires, raw magic is the one thing we can't build. It's a _natural_ force. From what I've gathered, it's the one kind of magic that cannot be tamed, and to try to force it to bend to _mortal_ law…it never ends well. Some say the Dark Lord's insanity rises from trying to force wild magic to do his bidding."

 _Soul Magic,_ Hadrian knew, was only one form of magic. It was the _only_ kind of magic that could make one immortal, and the concept of using soul magic to prolong one's life was illegal. He hadn't found much about _how_ would uses soul magic to make themselves immune to death, but every book he had found that referenced it advised against it. While he _wasn't_ sure Voldemort had resorted to that to live even after his body died, Hadrian hadn't found anything else which would explain how the man _survived_.

He grabbed a notepad and started writing. "I'm going to write down a series of questions. Call Marge later today and ask her. Press for as many details as you can. I'm going to call Hermione and see if she might be able to help with this. She could have stumbled across accounts like this in her studies, read something I haven't that could shed light on this entire event."

Hadrian didn't wait for a response, leaving the room with the phone in hand and Hermione's number dialed and ringing. He made his way back up the stairs, seeking the privacy of his room as the voice of an older woman answered, _"Granger's Residence, Jane speaking."_

"Hello, Mrs. Granger. Is Hermione available?"

 _"Hadrian?"_

"Yes, ma'am. It's been a while since we last spoke," Hadrian smiled as the woman's tone lifted, the tired drawl vanishing as she assured him Hermione _was,_ in fact, home. As Hadrian plopped on his bed, he fought back a laugh before asking, "How have you been?"

Jane Granger let out a light laugh. _"I'm the same as usual, I'd say. Work has been lucrative. You?"_

He knew the older woman was hunting down her daughter as Hadrian replied, "The same as usual, for the most part. My cousin's in a bit of a bind, and I'm hoping 'mione knows something I can use."

There was a moment of silence, then muffled conversation, then Hermione's voice was coming through the phone. _"Harry, is everything okay? Mum just said you were calling because of your family?"_

Hadrian paused, whatever comment that was on his tongue dying. Then he exhaled, voice low as he said, carefully, "I _am_ calling about my family. Dudley, mainly. Something's happened, and I'm not entirely sure _what_ I'm working against."

After Hermione's gentle prompting, Hadrian laid down the foundation of the story he had pieced together from Vernon and Petunia. His bushy-haired friend didn't interrupt, silent save for the soft humming she made when something caught her interest. Hadrian didn't doubt for a moment that she was at her desk, pen in hand and some odd notebook open. Taking notes. Hadrian paced to the door and turned on his heel, voice low as he said, "To top it off, the _last_ entry in Marge's journal during the trip was marked on Halloween, Hermione. That can't be a coincidence. Not with my track record."

His track record and all those who were associated with him – Halloween was a _shitty_ day, as far as he was concerned. It was almost as if the Fates had something against him with how his life would _always_ take a horrid turn on the same night, _every year,_ that marked his parents' murder. After living through too many Halloweens that nearly killed him, Hadrian had a healthy understanding that the _Night of the Dead_ was the _Night of Attempted Murder of Hadrian James Potter_.

It was a sentiment he vocalized. A slight smile pulled at his mouth as Hermione giggled, her voice soft as she finally said, _"I'll look into it, Harry. We should see if we can meet up somewhere. It may be easier to piece the puzzle together if I can actually see what's going on. I could be at your place in a few days?"_

Had Hadrian been anyone else, he would have declared eternal love for the Should-Have-Been-Ravenclaw girl who was his best friend. Instead, he let out a soft laugh, voice calm as he said, "A few days. Monday, then. I'll let Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon know you're coming. I think it'll do them a lot of good to meet your parents, too. They're rather open to…new ideas. More open-minded, with all that's going on."

 _Which was weird,_ Hadrian said his goodbyes as the thought crossed his mind. When he made his way to the family downstairs, he handed the phone to his uncle as he turned and addressed his aunt. "She'll be here on Monday. We'll need to clean the guest bedroom. She'll need room for her books and research."

As he teamed up with his aunt to clean the aforementioned room, Hadrian was aware of how his cousin followed after him. As his mind whirled and danced around the possibility of Dudley having been targeted by _magic,_ either in a ritual or pulled into a well of wild magic, he cleaned and let himself relax. In a few days, he'd have the most brilliant mind working alongside him.

He'd owl Krum and Cedric, send them a few copies of the photos Marge had taken. The two were older, had traveled around the world, so maybe they would know. He could also send a few photos to Ron; the redhead would pass the photos and story to Bill and Charlie. As Hadrian opened the window, gaze on the sun blazing in the sky, he let his mind settle and whirl.

Inside of him, wild magic contracted and spread.

* * *

 **Author's Note**

I am _so_ happy everyone is enjoying this story (all the reviews from the _last_ chapter shocked me), and all the favorable reviews made my day. It took me a while to work this chapter out, and, while much doesn't happen, it does help push along what's coming in the next chapters. And don't worry - what's happening with Dudley and his family is going to get _very_ interesting. I'm not going to say how it'll play in (as that would spoil the story), but Hadrian's summer sets up the entire storm of chaos and terror that will be his Fifth Year at Hogwarts.

This chapter is smaller than the last few, but I felt it was a good place to leave off. I have a thing about endings, leaving enough of a tail to leave people wanting more. So far, I think I'm doing good on that end. I have been a bit distracted, and I'll say why in a moment. For now, I'd like to know what you all think about this chapter and your ideas. I get a great deal of amusement seeing the guessing games unfold, seeing who is close to right or if someone is _far_ from right. Or if someone hit upon a _side effect_ of what's going on. Makes my day!

Third: I've been distracted lately. Writing is a bit harder due to the stress of dealing with my mum's cancer and my recent diagnosis of Level 01 Autism (or, informally, I am a high-functioning autistic individual). I'm still learning about this new development (I've been going to therapy since April and my doctor feels confident, after _many_ long conversations, to finally place a name on my condition after I asked about it), and I'm doing a lot of things I normally wouldn't do as part of a self-study my doctor recommends.

Such as having a sucky vlog on YouTube. I cringe, just watching it. So, in that way, I'm jumping between writing my own novel, writing fanfiction, and trying to do something with YouTube. So, uh, if you're interested in seeing me being a weird, boring lady who rambles...just type in Britta Nicole Miller into YouTube's search bar. I have, like, _8_ followers. Or copy/paste _**UCyFfjvBtU0zTU8Z9F26mR6w**_ into the search bar. That'll bring me up, quick and easy. Just in case you _want_ to.

Cause, frankly, I'm all ears for suggestions on what to talk about at this point. Given most of my followers are here on this lovely site, some of you might have a few things you'd be interested in me talking about. I'm a bit lost. So there's that, if you're interested (I hope not, because it's _embarrassingly_ amateur). Which leaves this wonderful story and the others I'm slowly (but surely) working on. I got a lot on my plate, right about now.

So, Without Further Ado: _Favorite, Follow,_ _ &_ _Review!_


	6. Chapter 6

**The Conception of Magic**

* * *

 **Chapter Six**

* * *

The Dursley household was a _changing_ household. Petunia, unsure how things came to be the way they were, how she had been so _blind_ to the wrongdoings of her and her husband, made an effort to fix the bridge between them. It took a tragedy befalling her _son_ for her to see what they had done, how they had harmed one of the few pure, _good_ things in the world. Lilly would be so _disappointed_ in her, and the thought alone of her baby sister feeling anything but affection and love was heartbreaking.

She had tried to be a good sister, when Lily first went off to school at Hogwarts. Every year, she would write letters and wait eagerly at the train station for her sister. Every year, they seemed to grow further and further apart – their once unbreakable bond shattered, bitterness and pain turning Petunia into a monster of a girl who had bullied and belittled the little girl (and her wizard friend) until there was not even a ghost of happiness left between them.

With Hadrian home, and with Dudley following after him like a lost puppy, Petunia could see some of the darkness in her home lifting. She would watch as Harry guided her sweet baby boy around the house, handing him a book and asking him to put it on the shelf. Dudley would do as asked, _eager_ to please. On the rare occasion, her boy would whisper Harry's name and reach out to hold his hand.

Harry never denied him.

Now it was Monday, she was preparing lunch, and nervously awaiting the arrival of the Grangers. They were a muggleborn family, their daughter (and for the love of God, she couldn't remember her name) a muggleborn just as her own sweet, redheaded sister had been. It would be non-magical families with magical children coming together and talking with the underlining understanding that a boy was in need of _magical_ help. She dried the plate in her hand for the sixth time, not yet putting it aside.

She needed to keep her hands busy. When Harry swept into the kitchen, hair growing steadily despite the fact she had cut it _yesterday,_ she eased to the side so he could help gather the finger snacks and drinks to set in the living room. Miss Granger's parents were _doctors,_ after all. It wouldn't do to look shabby in front of people who had such a profession.

What had they thought, when their daughter presented with magic for the first time?

"Aunt Petunia, you don't need to be nervous. Hermione's parents are chill," Harry's gaze was on the platter in his hands, though she knew his attention was on her. She picked up the pitcher of juice she had made (a combo of freshly squeezed apples, oranges, and a hint of lemon and a _lot_ of sugar) and placed it on the table after him. Dudley stayed in their shadow, tall and quiet, as Harry said, "They'll be here in a few minutes, yes. Don't fret. Be yourself. I'm sure everyone will get along."

She wanted to trust his word, but they were _doctors._ Petunia may have never met them before, or went to any clinic or hospital they worked in, but it took a lot of hard work to have the jobs they did. Vernon was holed up in their room, panicking undoubtedly, but Petunia knew she could help him walk the waters they were getting ready to dive into.

It was for Dudley, after all. Lily and Harry, too. For their family, for _all_ of their family.

"Do you have the things Marge brought back with her?"

Petunia blinked, then turned and looked at her nephew. "I do, yes. They're on the shelf, at the moment, and I'll bring them up to the table after the Grangers are here. It wouldn't do to jump into the thick of things right off the bat."

A good hostess would _entertain_ the guests first, feed and water them. Tell them stories, hear stories. Her grandmother had taught her well, lessons Lily never received because she was always away at school. Her baby sister had married into a noble family, though. Potter. James Potter was from an old and _noble_ family, if she remembered her sister's words right.

When the doorbell rang, Petunia was quick to answer it. Harry retreated upstairs to fetch Vernon, Dudley his constant shadow. Petunia smoothed her hands over her dress, drawing in a calming breath before opening the door with an open, friendly (if not worn and tired and stressed) smile. The man in front of her was a brunette, hair dark and flat, skin tanned and warm and sunny.

She gestured him inside, voice light as she said, "Welcome to my home, Mr. Granger. Please, come in."

"Call me Raymond, Mrs. Dursley," the dark-haired, tanned man replied.

The woman behind him, Mrs. Granger (Jane, Harry had said) without a doubt. She was paler in hair, but the vast volume was _curly._ She wore loose, harem pants and a loose, beaded shirt. Very…hippy. When they shook hands, the woman confirmed her thoughts when she said, "I'm Jane. It's a pleasure."

Following after the two was a girl Harry's age with curly, dark hair and a decent tan. She was a perfect cross of stern but open, her eyes bright despite the tension around her mouth as she said, "I'm Hermione Granger. Where's Harry?"

"I'm here, 'mione," Harry was coming down the stairs, Vernon and Dudley on his heels.

Hermione's arms were around him the moment he was in front of her, and Petunia was sure her nephew was going to get eaten alive by that girl's hair. Harry returned the embrace while Petunia guided her husband and the Grangers (Jane and Raymond) to the front room, relaxing as she said, "I'm happy you're all here. I haven't had the chance to talk to any parents of Harry's friends. I'm curious about you, as you're muggles like myself and my husband. Was it shocking to find out your daughter was a witch?"

She wanted to smack herself. She _knew better_ than to jump to that question right after mee–

"It was a shock, that's for sure!" Raymond sat with a laugh, eyes dancing and alight with joy. He took the drink when offered, his wife sitting next to him with one leg tucked her body. Raymond put an arm around her as he said, "We found out she had magic when she was a babe. She was sitting in the middle of the living room, a few of her favorite picture books around her, but she wanted to know what _mummy_ was reading. Well, mummy and I had to keep that book on the top shelf. Then, one day, it was floating across the front room. I was sure I was drunk."

"Raymond had been sober for three years, at the point," Jane supplied helpfully as she tucked a strand of too-curly hair behind her ear. She was calm, eyes sharp and cutting, but there was a sort of _peace_ to Mrs. Jane Granger that Petunia liked. The other woman continued, "I was surprised, but I learned to trust what I _can_ see. If there's a book floating across the room, one my _husband_ saw, then that's what we saw."

On the other side of the room, standing in the doorway, was Hermione, Dudley, and Hadrian.

Hadrian watched the adults, gaze darting between his aunt and uncle. He noticed when they relaxed, the conversations flowing naturally. He turned to his curly haired friend and cousin, a box tucked under his arm that held the things Marge had brought from that island. He led them upstairs, into the guestroom, and sat it on the desk. The pictures were already there, waiting to be inspected.

Hermione ran a hand through her hair. "This is odd, I'll say."

Hadrian leaned against the wall, eyebrow arched. "I'm well aware. Ah, by the way, this is Dudley."

When Hadrian said his name, Dudley blinked and turned to him. The black-haired teen took Dudley's hand when the older boy reached for his, voice lighter as he said, "Dudley, this is Hermione. She's going to help us with what's going on. Say hello."

Dudley turned, eyeing the witch. Hadrian watched, saw how he took her hand. "Hello, Hermione."

When Hermione's cheeks flushed, Hadrian's eyebrows arched. She shot him a look and the lanky, dark-haired teen rolled his eyes. He guided Dudley to a seat. The larger boy sat without prompting, already aware of what Hadrian wanted. Hermione took a seat at the desk, chair turned towards them.

"Tell me what's going on," Hermione's expression was serious, hard. Hadrian inclined his head, a light smile spreading across his face as she continued, "My mum and dad can help your aunt and uncle, but what's happening here, with Dudley, this is _our_ work. I need to know everything you do."

Hadrian paced as he began the story, delving into everything he had read in Marge's journal. He pointed out the pictures, going silent as Hermione flipped through them. She had her own notes from when they had spoken on the phone, the two of them working together to piece together the puzzle that was the island Dudley and Marge had stumbled upon.

They flipped through documents Marge had found, ones she kept. Hadrian looked through the dairy, trying to find _anything_ new in it. Dudley stood by the window, looking out over the street. When the door creaked open, Hadrian turned to see the adults outside the threshold. Hermione's parents didn't hesitate before they entered, voices light as they checked on their progress.

Petunia sat on the bed, voice light as she said, "We haven't managed to get a hold of Marge. We called her cousin and asked him to go and check in on her…"

Hadrian frowned. "How about emails?"

"None of them were read," Vernon, thin and clothing lose, looked over a few books on the shelf Hermione had already unpacked. He didn't turn to look at them, opting to pick up a book and open it, body drooping and worn, as he said, "She always replies to my emails within a few days. We haven't heard anything in a week, now…"

He was worried, Hadrian realized. While Marge wasn't the _nicest_ woman in the world, she was still his sister and he was going to worry. Hadrian shot a look at Hermione, a look she returned – the likelihood of this being an _accident,_ a coincidence, was improbable. Dudley's change, Marge's lack of response.

"Are you sure she hadn't…changed, after coming back?" Hermione asked Vernon. Hadrian's uncle turned to look at her, silent for a moment before answering, "She was…quieter. Withdrawn. Marge, she's a loud woman. Boisterous. Rowdy. She would clam up when something was bugging her…"

"Did you ask?"

"I asked," Vernon's expression turned down, a scowl cutting across his features. "She's my sister."

Petunia set a hand on his arm. "Vernon…"

Hadrian looked between the two of them, a sense of discomfort rising. This was… _private_. He averted his gaze, turning to Hermione as he said, "I think this incident is branched. Not only was there Storm Magic during the Triwizard tournament, but Dudley was also exposed to raw, unfiltered magic…"

Hermione hummed her agreement. "That is the only workable theory, at present."

Jane came over, riffling through the documents and papers. Then a few of the charts that lingered on the edge of the space, her lips pulling into a frown. When Hadrian saw the look, she said, "This here, it's a record. Vital Records, from the looks of it. Each row represents a person. I'm guessing the first entry is the date of birth…"

Hadrian watched as Raymond looked over his wife's shoulder, gaze sweeping over the page. "Looks like it. Regardless of the differences in language, Vital Records are often kept in a similar format. Hasn't changed all that much over the centuries they've been in use."

"Vital records?" It wasn't a term Hadrian was familiar with.

Jane inclined her head. "They cover births and deaths, relations, weddings, cause of deaths – they're a way to keep track of how a town is doing. It's also useful to understand if there's a pattern, such as a sudden sickness killing many. Vital Records would show if there were similarities, show if there's a link in demographics and anything corresponding to it…"

Hadrian's gaze shifted to the old, yellowed pages. "…why would Marge have that?"

Jane and Raymond exchanged looks. "That's a good question."

Dudley turned, voice low. "Harry…there's something out there…"

The soft, barely audible words caused the room to fall to silence. Hadrian crossed the room and paused at his cousin's side, gaze sweeping across the thick, mist-laden roads. The edges of the glass were covered in a thin layer of web-like ice. When his fingers grazed the silver-blue frost, energy snapped out of it.

Blood splattered over the window.

"Harry!" Hermione was pulling him and Dudley away from the window, her hand grabbing his at the same moment Dudley did. They turned his hand over, the two of them peering at his bloody fingers and the deep cut slashed through his palm up towards his wrist. Worry was thick in their gazes, though Hermione's gaze shifted to the window. "Was that _magic?"_

"No," Hadrian curled his fingers, blinking as they began to tingle. "Not a spell, anyway…"

Dudley pressed against his side, curling around him. His chin rested on the crown of his head. _"Harry…"_

Hadrian sensed the unease in his cousin, saw it in his aunt and uncle's gazes. He didn't protest when Jane and Raymond doctored his hand, their expressions turning pensive when the bleeding wouldn't stop. It continued to ooze, slow and thick. They wrapped his hand tight, both understanding, in that moment, that muggle medicine couldn't fix the injury. Hadrian tucked his hand in his sleeve, once it was wrapped.

"We should get ahold of Viktor and Cedric," Hermione was pacing, long hair pulled up. Hadrian hummed in agreement as his curly-haired, tanned-skinned friend continued, "I haven't read anything about any of this in the books at Hogwarts. Viktor and Cedric, they both come from strong families. They likely have a family archive or libraries. Maybe they have books or records that would shed some light on this…"

"Is there anything you can do, Miss Granger?" Petunia took Hermione's hands in her own, voice low.

Hadrian watched as his friend squeezed his aunt's hands. "I'll look over the things Marge had brought back with her. Try and get in touch with her. Call the police if you don't hear anything by Monday."

Jane put a hand on Petunia's shoulder as she said, "Let's go back downstairs. The kids can study better if we're not hovering over their shoulder. We'll give you some pointers on staying on top of all this."

Once they were gone, Hadrian returned to the window. He heard Hermione's intake of breath, felt Dudley at his back. His fingers, bandaged and wrapped in white bandages, ghosted over the glass. He felt the energy in the frost sparking, skimming the bandages but not quite touching. Not as long as there wasn't any direct contact.

When his gaze shifted to the shadows on the other side of the street, a sense of unease curled. His eyes widened, lips parting in surprise. He heard Hermione's questioning voice, then sensed her stillness when she stood behind him. Sensed her magic rise and curl in the air, a natural, defensive instinct born from an awareness when something dangerous, something _magical,_ was in the area.

As Hadrian's hand fell to his side, he knew, then, there was more to the picture.

"What are they?" Dudley's arms wound around him, the taller, lanky teen curling around him. "What are they, Harry? Why are they watching us?"

Hadrian swallowed, seeking Hermione's hand as he rested his other hand on Dudley's forearm.

Across the street, more than a dozen dementors rested. All of them still. All of them looking back at them.

* * *

 **Author's Note**

Two chapters, one night! Not two chapters _here,_ but two stories updated. I'm on a roll.

Anyway, this one was long overdue. I had the ending in my head for a while because, frankly, there's nothing more unnerving than the thought of looking out of your window and seeing a crowd of dementors staring at your bedroom window. It's not okay. At all. However, Hermione has arrived at the Dursley household! As have her parents. And Marge in MIA. And there's a bunch of dementors outside their house. Staring at Harry and Dudley and Hermione. Creepy, much?

I hope you've all enjoyed this as much as I liked writing it!

So, Without Further Ado: _Favorite, Follow,_ _ &_ _Review!_


	7. Chapter 7

**The Conception of Magic**

* * *

 **Chapter Seven**

* * *

There were dementors… _outside his house._

Harry wasn't sure how he _felt_ about that, other than unnerved and overly annoyed. He could see them, see their black-robed bodies and hidden faces, as if they were right in front of him. He could see them as clearly as he could feel his stomach churning, another wave of nausea pooling in the back of his throat. He could see the demented bastards as clearly as he could feel foreign magic igniting under his flesh.

He was, without a doubt, _not happy._ This was his _house,_ for Merlin's sake! He was supposed to be able to have a _relatively_ peaceful summer here, an army of chores or not. He _shouldn't_ have to deal with bloody dark creatures that liked to eat happiness and shit out depression. He didn't want to deal with them and their weather-dropping, bastard-ly ways. _He did not want to deal with this._

Eyebrow twitching, he turned, slowly, hand numb, and eyed his friend and cousin.

"I am _so_ done with this shit," Harry deadpanned.

Hermione's gaze narrowed. "Harry, whatever you're thinking, _don't."_

"Harry?" Dudley grabbed his hand, squeezing, eyes wide. "What are they?"

"Dementors, Duds," Harry gestured to the window. "We have _dementors_ outside. I'm done!"

As Hermione's mouth opened, Harry snapped, "I draw the line at dementors and naked Dark Lords!"

"Oh _god,_ not _this_ again," Hermione rubbed her brow, stepping in his way. Harry scowled, though said nothing as she pressed her hands to the front of his shoulders. _Clavicles_ , some small part of his mind supplied without humor. _The shoulder's higher up, dumbass. Get it right._ Harry rubbed his brow, exhaling, slowly, as Hermione said, "I know seeing the Dark Lord has scared you for life, but that cannot be put in the same category as _dementors,_ Harry."

"Yes, yes it _can,"_ Harry grabbed her arms, then turned her to the window. "When they're near, I see a _naked Dark Lord in my head!_ Not my parents screaming. _Naked Lords."_

Hermione looked at him, unimpressed. "They're not close enough to do that, Harry. _At all."_

Well, damn. Harry looked out the window. "Huh. Maybe just knowing they're there –"

"No," Hermione pulled him away from the window, voice hard. "Forget about all of _that."_

 _'That' doesn't say what to forget. Can't people be clearer?_ Harry scowled at his internal thoughts his brain was sputtering out, voice low as he said, "But we _know_ what 'mion means by _'that,'_ dumbass. And you call _me_ stupid."

"…Harry?" His gaze jumped to his friend, to her cautious expression. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Why?"

"You're _talking_ to yourself."

Harry blinked, then nodded. "That I am. It's that or go crazy."

He was starting to suspect he was _already_ crazy, but there wasn't any reason to voice that thought out loud. He was sure his bookish friend would send him to a magical mental ward, for that. Maybe a muggle one, too, just to cover all basis. Turning and pacing, the dark-haired teen tried to determine what to do as his mind focused on the dementors and frosted glass and the sharp, stinging pain building behind his Curse Mark. Looked like Voldi was in a bad mood. Harry was glad he wasn't one of the man's minions.

"He has a habit of cursing people when he's pissed."

 _"What?"_

Did he say that out loud? Grinning, he turned to Hermione and gestured to the irritated, pink-red mark that was his Curse Mark. "Voldi is a bit irate, at the moment. Wonder what has him worked up…"

"Don't _call_ him that!" Hermione looked horrified. Harry didn't blame her, there.

Voldi would be outraged if he knew how Harry was dubbing him. He shrugged. "I can't help it. I'm tired, I'm sick to my stomach _all_ the time, and now there's a pissed off Dark Lord giving me a headache. _From long distance,_ 'Mione! Everything that makes up my life is utter bullshit!"

Harry needed an _actual_ vacation. Away from troubles and Dark Lords and dementors and naked men who greeted their followers without a lick of shame. He was stressed. His cousin was ill, on a level deeper than Harry knew what to do with. Muggle doctors wouldn't be able to help. He doubted Dumbledore would be of _any_ use, in this case. The man was notorious for being helpful only if it meant _Harry_ was in danger.

Something the teen was picking up on. He grimaced as pain flared, his hand settling over his stomach as it rolled and churned. Gods above, what did that fucking storm _do_ to him? Harry turned on his heel and paced back to the window, staring out at the dementors that were _still_ staring at his window.

Creeps, the lot of them.

"Can I get a restraining order against dementors?" Harry leaned his hip against the wall, looking at his best friend and cousin. Hermione was rubbing her brow, eyes closed. Dudley was sitting next to where she stood, his hand resting on her hip. Harry watched as she patted that hand, offering comfort in her own way, and then Harry looked towards the dementors. "They're not coming any closer. They're just _standing_ there. Or floating. Whatever. Maybe Viktor or Cedric would know something? Do they have phones?"

"No, Harry, I'm sure they don't."

"Bloody shame, that. Bloody shame."

Okay, so they needed to focus. The dementors, as annoying as they were, weren't causing any harm. Not yet, anyway. As Harry drew the blinds, casting the room into a darker shadow, he turned to the notebooks on the table and the photos and the random sticky notes he and Hermione were pasting to the wall. He could send a few extra messages, sometime tomorrow. Preferably when _dementors_ weren't standing guard in front of his _goddamn house._ Bastards, the lot of them. Complete and utter _bastards_.

"I don't get paid enough for this shit," Harry flipped through a few pages in one of Hermione's notebooks, seeing if something new would stick out. He was aware of the looks he was getting, but Harry didn't care. He was beyond caring, at this point. "There's something we're missing. There has to be."

Another image of a naked _Dark Lord_ popped up into his head. Harry scowled.

Then paused, sinking into the chair by the desk. "Maybe…"

"Harry?" The dark-haired teen's gaze shifted to Hermione, to the question in her gaze.

Harry turned to the wall of s'notes. "Marge and Dudley landed on the island in September, towards the middle of the month. At the end of October, things went south. Literally, perhaps…"

Hermione and Dudley joined him in front of the wall of colorful notes as Harry continued, "A magical storm hit June 24th, shy of a week before the term ended. That's eight months…"

Hermione's hand landed on his shoulder, her voice low as she asked, "What's on your mind?"

"We need more research material," Harry turned to her, expression hard. His mind whirled and danced, thoughts, both beautiful and terrifying, settling in his mind as he said, "If I'm right, that storm _began_ at the island Dudley and Marge were on."

Harry took Dudley's hand, interlacing their fingers. His magic curled under his flesh, pushing from his flesh and moving into his cousin's. Dudley's pupils widened, nearly overwhelming the iris, as Harry, tightening his grip on Dudley's hand, whispered, "It began with Dudley on October 31st, on the day when the veil between the living and the dead is thinnest. It began on a night that also marked a new turn in my life, as my parents were murdered."

He turned to Hermione, Dudley's hand clasped in his. "Do you know what eight represents?"

Hermione blinked, then her eyes widened. "It's considered to be a lucky number, in many cultures."

"The number eight is, in a way, one of the most powerful numbers in existence," Harry took comfort in the circle of magic moving from him into Dudley and back again. An infinite loop. He held up their joined hands as he continued, "Seven is an important number, in many cultures. Seven characters. Seven sins and virtues. Seven days for a world to be formed. Seven elements. However, if you look at it from a numerical viewpoint, it takes a new turn.

"Eight is the symbol of power and strength," As one missing piece of the puzzle clicked into place, Harry reached over and took Hermione's hand. His magic branched off, heavy and alive and wild, and flowed into his friend. Her breath hitched as it flowed through her, as it nudged her own power to rise and meld and join the dance. "Eight is the combination of two worlds, Hermione. The physical and the spiritual. It is a new beginning, a change in the cycle. What _started_ with Dudley, Hermione…it _ended_ with me. With me and Voldemort. The end of _something_ occurred, but, in its final moments, something new was born.

"That something, Hermione…" Harry felt a tendril of unease curl through him. "I don't know what it is."

.

Two weeks had passed, since his _return_ to the world. Two weeks of weakness, of need and burning hunger.

Voldemort stood on the top of the stairs in the antechamber, his back to his followers. He stared up at the wall, peered at a picture frame with a narrowed, bloody gaze. Magic hummed under his skin, sparking and flowing through his veins as something _white_ curled within his chest and mind. His own magic was curling around it, digging in, wrapping around it and _defending_ it. Pain came, when he tried to burn it out.

The Biawac had been unexpected. Behind him, his followers were silent. Kneeling, faces to the ground.

Pitiful things, his followers. Voldemort turned, robes whirling around him like a watery veil of cosmic black power. Dark, silken water. His followers, they waited for him to greet them. A few were young, still in school. His gaze settled on a head of fair hair, his steps silent as he glided down the staircase to pause in front of a pureblood who trembled as he neared.

He reached for the young Malfoy, long fingers ghosting along the side of the boy's face until he grasped his chin. Draco Malfoy didn't fight him when he tilted his chin up, met his gaze without flinching. There was fear there, in those silver-grey eyes. Fear and respect, admiration and terror. Love and hate. Magic curled under his flesh, his skin prickling as something cold and unwelcome coiled up his spine.

A need to get away from his manor, it pulled at him. Whispered in his ear.

"Draconis Abraxian Malfoy," the boy's full name flowed off his tongue. "Abraixan. You were named after your grandfather Abraxas. Did you know that, young one?"

Draco swallowed. "Yes, Mi'Lord. Father spoke of him, sometimes."

"Did your father tell you Abraxas was one of my dearest companions when he was alive?" Voldemort watched as the boy's eyes widened, surprise making the grey gleam and shine. Then there was a desire, in those eyes. A yearning to know more. He wasn't surprised when the child refrained from asking.

A slight pressure was all he had to give for the child to stand. He stroked the young Malfoy's cheek as he said, "He was several years ahead of me, back when I attended Hogwarts. We did not get along."

"You didn't?" There was shock, there.

Voldemort let his fingers glide down the boy's throat to settle on his shoulder. "No, we didn't. I was an orphan, my heritage, at the time, unknown. He was taught to _hate_ me, from the mere assumption I was a mudblood. Despite his family's whispers, he was also drawn to me. To my power. My _magic."_

His hand glided down the boy's left arm until he caught his hand, turning it so the palm was up. He exposed a bare forearm, the skin lacking his mark. Voldemort brought that arm up, pulling the teen closer, and placed a chaste kiss on the wrist before he murmured, "He was a Malfoy, however, and Malfoys knew power when they saw it. They have a sense for magic, regardless of what body it is contained in."

The rest of his followers were upright, still on their knees, but they were watching this exchange. Good. It was something they should be doing. With Draco standing directly in front of him, eyes wide, cheeks holding a hint of a blush, Voldemort smiled. The teen eased closer, entranced.

The scales sweeping over Voldemort's features seemed to glow and gleamed, each black scale housing a well of magic. The power in his veins, changed by a force beyond him, stirred and shifted and curled around the white within his heart. He lowered Draco's hand, but kept their palms connected.

"Tell me, young Draco, is there someone in Hogwarts with power? Someone you did not expect it to be in, someone which sang of power regardless of the stories you've been told?" Voldemort saw the light shine in the boy's eyes, knew he was already thinking of someone, or multiples, that fit the description of what he was describing. Then there was discomfort, a flicker of unease. He squeezed the hand in his, voice low as he said, "Speak, young Draco. Tell me what your senses tell you."

"There is someone, a student who is powerful despite their…pedigree," Draco's gaze lowered, brows furrowing. Voldemort waited, knowing he was trying to figure out how to word it. Then, after a moment, the teen finally said, "There's quite a lot of them, actually. Potter, being one of them. He's a halfblood, though, so it's not _too_ surprising. The people he surrounds himself with, the people who seek him out, they're also powerful. Granger can be outright _terrifying_ when she wants to be…"

"Granger?"

"Hermione Granger, a Gryffindor mudblood," Draco's response was distant, the teen buried in his own mind. The answer, however, was a bit surprising. When the young Malfoy sensed his attention, he was quick to add, "She's in my year. She has top marks. In _all_ her classes, though Potter ranks above her. Their friend, Weasley, he's also strong. As is Lovegood and Longbottom. And Diggory and Krum…"

"Krum, as in _Viktor_ Krum?"

"Yes, Mi'lord. He was one of the four champions. It seems he and Potter got rather close, as did Potter and Diggory," Draco's attention was now on their joined hands, the teen lightly squeezing the longer fingers holding his. He seemed bemused, now. Voldemort didn't have long to wait as he said, "I tried to befriend him, in my first year. I was a total prat, though. Potter was… _different._ He doesn't…"

The words cut off, the teen's eyes widening as he looked up at him. Voldemort's expression was cooler, calmer, and his hand rose to stroke the teen's cheek. He watched, pleased, as the color left the boy's skin _before_ Voldemort said, "He doesn't act like a normal teenager. He's hardened, bold, and cares not for the opinion of the people around him."

Hadrian James Potter, fifteen-years-old, son of James and Lilly Potter. Halfblood.

How was it that _one little boy_ was able to escape his end, time and time again? Voldemort's lips thinned, dark brows furrowing as he thought back to the addled teenager prophesied to be his undoing. How long had it been, since he had murdered the boy's family? Twelve Years? Thirteen? Time, it blurred, once the physical body was destroyed. Time spent as a spirit, as a wraith, gave him a new perception of the world.

With Draco in front of his, his father and mother standing behind the boy, Voldemort tightened his grip on the boy's chin. He hadn't known the young Malfoy tried to befriend Potter, all those years ago. The same child who had defied him, time and time again. Who has stood against him, who has fought and fled and run and danced out of his blackened grip. The child was, without doubt, a puzzle to be unraveled.

Now something new had come into the picture. The Biawac.

Voldemort recalled how a coil of his _own_ magic had been cut from his body, felt it as it flared and flowed within the vortex of elemental magic. It had flowed _through_ his and Potter's clashing spells, had slammed into the teen, sank into his body. For a few days, he felt his own magic, distant but there, shift and change until it faded until it was nothing more than a warm, pulsing presence echoing deep within himself.

When a spark of white magic had flared out, piercing his barrier, cutting into his _mind,_ Voldemort knew, without a doubt, the boy couldn't be killed. Not any longer. Not when he, Voldemort, housed a part of the boy's _soul_ inside himself – and the only way to kill Potter would be to kill _all_ vessels containing his soul. Which would mean killing _himself,_ which wasn't, and never would be, an option.

If he focused, he could sense the annoyance lurking in the back of his mind.

Frayed, frantic emotions coupled with rage and anger and _illness._

Potter was ill, somehow. A constant, churning sickness that wouldn't relent. Voldemort turned from his followers as he said, "The plans have changed. Draconis, I want you to try and befriend him. My revival had a few unexpected side effects not even I could have prepared for. I need to know who he is."

He turned, at the base of the stairs, and let his gaze settle on the group. "We lost our war, the last time around. We rushed forward. We were too _obvious,_ in our methods. No longer. This game we play, it can be won in only one manner. With dedication. With ambition. Covertly, done in stealth and silence."

One pulse of his magic had them vanishing, expelled from his home. Voldemort stood, contemplating the silence, the stillness, until his gaze settled on the one person who hadn't been banished. He offered a slow, sharp smile as Severus Snape approached and bowed. He caught the Potion Master by the chin, locking their gaze as their minds brushed and intertwined.

"There's much to discuss, Severus," Voldemort watched as the young teacher's eyes closed, a sense of resignation settling into the younger wizard's shoulders. He traced scaled fingers over sharp cheekbones, voice low, soft, as he said, "I have a task ready for you. No other can do what I will ask of you."

Black eyes met his. Voldemort smiled, dark promises shining within his eyes.

* * *

 **Author's Note**

I am so _happy_ everyone is enjoying this story. There's a lot of mystery in the background, but its intentional. And, like several asked, Voldemort has made an appearance. And Harry is back to Harry. I have a few chapters I have to go back and correct, considering he's called "Hadrian" in them. Hadrian is his _actual_ name, but the only people that call him that are teachers or people who aren't all that close to him. When you have as many stories up and running as I do, sometimes it's easy for them to overlap. I'll have that fixed, soon enough.

Some of you had a correct idea about the different way the Spirit Storm impacts the people in question, but there's more to it! Part of it is revealed here, other parts are hinted at (a reveal that'll happen in...three or four chapters) and I'm looking forward to it. Dudley will play a part in this. As Harry stated, it began with Dudley and the island - the storm reached its conclusion with Harry and Voldie. I hope everyone likes this story. Harry's humor has begun to make a reappearance.

As had the concept of naked Dark Lords. Had to toss that back in there. Made me laugh.

So, Without Further Ado: _Favorite, Follow,_ _ &_ _Review!_


	8. Chapter 8

**The Conception of Magic**

* * *

 **Chapter Eight**

* * *

Days began to pass in rapid order, and Harry was struggling under the influx of changes happening around him. He may be the 'Boy-Who-Lived', as everyone was so ready to remind him, but there were things in the world he just couldn't tolerate. Nudity was one of those things– something _all_ of Gryffindor knew. Many of them went out of their way to walk out of the showers in the joint bathroom in the boy's dorm in their naked, wet glory. It was always embarrassing. It frustrating, given they did it on purpose. He knew they did it because of reactions, because of how he'd quickly turn and look away, but Harry couldn't help it.

The boys were almost as embarrassing as the seventh-year Lionness flashing him at random, last year. Harry was fairly certain he was scared, from that.

He couldn't stand bullies, in general, and stressful situations never went well. His cousin and his guardians had left him with a sour taste when it came to people who were cruel to those who couldn't defend themselves. He had suffered enough at their hands, in the past. They had changed, yes, but sometimes he wondered if he would wake up and everything was a dream and if they'd be throwing him in the cupboard under the stairs. If they would take his food away from him for a few weeks, if his uncle would hit him, if his aunt would scream at him. He frowned, thinking about those darker days. They were gone, but were they really?

Worse, however, was one of the few things he couldn't handle well that he struggled with ten months out of the year.

Being _stared_ at for no bloody, _sensible_ reason.

Having a small army of _dementors_ haunting the neighborhood he and his family lived in, the things _always watching,_ wasn't okay. The dark-haired teen was pacing, at this point. Days had passed. The research he and Hermione were _trying_ to do was interrupted, constantly, by sudden, random blackouts and the cold, oppressive weight of dark, magical creatures who didn't have any concept of bloody _manners._

Running a hand over his face, Harry flipped through a set of notes he and Hermione had jotted down. The conversations they had started with Dudley, trying to understand what's going on with him and what had happened on that forsaken island, was a slow process. Marge was still MIA, not answering calls or texts or emails of any kind. Vernon couldn't get the police on the line, either.

His scar was constantly humming, a warm tickle of energy lurking behind it. The occasional burst of pain was a distraction, but it was one Harry learned to ignore. He had received answers from Ron, Viktor, and Cedric. Ron's letters also had added notes from Bill and Charlie, the two of them being drawn into the loop as they had stumbled across his and Ron's correspondences. Fred and George were also in the loop.

As was Luna, who was, startingly enough, sitting with him and Hermione and Dudley on the floor of the guest bedroom. Harry wasn't sure _where_ the Ravenclaw had come from. She just…appeared on his doorstep. No questions were asked. Hermione's parents were over every day, providing a distraction to Petunia and Vernon. The doctors were helping them regain their sleep, helping them rise from the slump they had fallen in and how to improve the situation.

The biggest change was Dudley, however.

He had changed, once Harry came home. When Hermione arrived, he perked up a bit. Became a tad more talkative. With Hermione and Luna in the room, he seemed calmer. Content and alert, though still quiet and edgy and resting on the edge of a mental breakdown. But he was eating, he was sleeping, and he would, occasionally, sit with his parents in a comfortable silence.

As Harry had suspected, _magic_ helped. While the three couldn't toss spells around, just being with them seemed to help ease the shadows from his eyes. They were drawing him into reality, pulling him away from the nightmare he was still stuck inside. Luna had her own books, things about ancient islands and rituals and runes that even had _Hermione_ swooning. He hadn't thought Luna read those kinds of books, given her interest in creatures few people could see.

Harry vaguely suspected the absent-minded teen was, in fact, a seer of some kind.

It would, undoubtedly, explain so _much_ about Luna's ability to remain calm regardless of _any_ situation.

"I got a message from the boys," Hermione was stepping into the room, having left some time ago, with a large pizza balanced on one hand and a stack of letters tucked under her other arm. Luna got up to relieve her of the food, setting it on the bed next to them. The floor supported more people, after all, and they could sit in a circle. "Ron and his brothers will be in Diagon Alley, around three. Viktor and Cedric will be there, too."

Harry leaned back, a slice of pizza caught between his teeth. This would work. He turned his gaze to his cousin, then to Luna (who was showing him some interesting pictures of different magical creatures), and how the two were getting along. Then again, mostly _everyone_ got on with Luna. He'd even seen Zabini walking her through the halls in Hogwarts, a few times.

That had been a shocker, though he knew it shouldn't be all that surprising.

Blaise Zabini was a different brand of Serpent. The dark-skinned Italian had never tried to fight with Harry or his friends. Had told Malfoy to back off, more than once. Malfoy always did, too. Slytherin seemed to keep a distance from Zabini, though Harry wasn't entirely sure _why_. There was a story, there. One he wanted to know a bit more about, one that he suspected the older boy would share if Harry was able to prove himself as someone the dark-skinned teen could trust.

Maybe he could send a message to Zabini, too. He already had a notebook and pen ready when the others noticed him writing down a letter, Hermione's brow furrowing as she asked, "What are you planning?"

"I'm consulting Zabini," Harry answered easily, his mind shifting to Barty. Then he paused. "And Barty."

He turned, gaze on his bushy-haired friend and her horrified gaze. He heard her protest before she said, loudly and somewhat chocked, "No."

Harry arched an eyebrow. _"Yes,_ 'Mione. He owes me."

"He could run to the Dark Lord with this!" That was a possibility, one Harry had already considered. He didn't think Barty would, though. Not after their…mutual _understanding_ of the situation. Hermione put her hands down on the ground between them, hands on either side of their lunch, and leaned in so they were face-to-face. "Contacting _Barty_ isn't a good idea. He's a _Death Eater."_

"He's a _former_ Death Eater," Harry stated calmly as he jotted down notes and questions for the older wizard, mind whirling. He wasn't sure if Hedwig would be able to find the man, anyway. Something he pointed out. Harry did know, however, that the man had made up his mind when he vowed he would pay Harry back for his mercy. The man's loyalties had been severed. "I can't explain it, Hermione. I just _know_ we can trust him. I knew the moment I let him go that he won't be returning to the Dark Lord."

"How!" Hermione's cheeks were flushed, expression livid. "How can you _know_ that?"

"If Harry trusts him, I trust him," Dudley was looking between them, arms limp in his lap. Hermione's gaze shifted to the taller boy, her lips pursing. Dudley glanced to the side, turning his gaze away, curling into himself, but he continued, voice low and soft, "Harry, he knows things. Always has. It's heightened, now. Stronger. His magic…it's _different._ I can feel it, Hermione. Please, trust him."

Harry eyed his cousin, surprised. Luna had an angelic smile on her face, that same faith Dudley expressing for him something he knew the young Ravenclaw already felt. Hermione sighed, deflating. She combed a hand through her hair, shaking her head. "I trust Harry, Dudley. With my life. With your life, with the lives of all in this world. And, yeah, he _does_ have an uncanny sixth-sense. It's, just, Barty's a _Death Eater…"_

"Was, Hermione, he _was_ a Death Eater," Harry finished the letters, tucking each into a small tube.

He opened the window, gaze landing on the dementors drifting along the streets. He saw them ghosting around unaware muggles, not interested in the men and women. Which was odd. He would have thought the deadly creatures would be sucking out souls left and right like some kind of monstrous, alien cancer spread through the streets. He caught sight of Hedwig, voice even as he added, "I'm not telling him _much,_ but I'm asking if he knows anything about Storm Magic. Where it came from. Why he said what he did."

Harry had a lot of questions for the man, though he wondered if the message would _actually_ reach him. A quick glance at Hedwig, who was staring at him reproachfully, told him all he needed to know. Then he wondered if his faithful girl could read his bloody mind because, _really,_ how the hell did she always seem to know when he was contemplating her ability to deliver a message?

It didn't make sense. Then again, what _did_ make sense in a world of magic?

He fastened the letters to one of her feet, sending her off with a fond smile. Hedwig was an oddity, as far as owls went. She was often awake at all times of the day, dozing here and there. It was almost as if she _knew_ when he would send a letter. Kind of like she was aware when his mind was shifting to things likes letters and correspondences and messages. His brow ached, for a moment.

The scar was warm, the link between him and the Dark Lord flaring for a moment before settling. The man wasn't all that happy, it seemed. Harry turned back to the teens sitting on the floor behind him, a slow grin spreading across his face as he eyed the group. He pushed a bit further into the room as he said, "I think we should go ahead and head to the Ally. It'll be Dudley's first trip. I'd rather have him _somewhat_ adjusted to a magical environment before the meeting."

Hermione frowned. "That does make sense, but what if there's Death Eaters…"

Harry shook his head. Hermione huffed, arms folded across her chest, but then sighed when he tapped his Curse Mark. "If he's staging a coup on the Ally, it won't be today. He's a tad distracted. Has been, for a while. No random bursts of illogical rage. Just…contemplative and… _thoughtful?"_

He didn't have a way to describe the things he got through the link, only knew they were there. At some points, the bond between him and the Dark Lord was like an open book. This was something he explained as they made their way out into the neighborhood. Over the last decade (and the first three years in Hogwarts, most notably), he had been aware of the anger and irritation and dark, boiling, seething emotions the Dark Lord felt. They always managed to slip through the link, this Curse Mark Dumbledore said that _connected_ him and Voldemort in some unexplainable way.

Lately, since the Storm, _other_ things were starting to shift through the link. Moments of calmness. Brushes of thoughtful intrigue. Shock and disbelief. Anger, certainly. A rare moment of unbridled joy. The monster had a full range of emotions. Harry was still trying to wrap his mind around that.

He had always assumed the man to be mentally handicapped. Mentally damaged, too. A reasonable thought, once someone considered the mayhem the man had spread. It was like his emotions were ran over by Life's raging, never-stopping train the moment he was conceived in his mother's womb.

One moment, his soul and mind and emotions were alive and singing, _'I'm here!'_

The next moment, before anyone could be prepared for it, Life, and Death respectively, looked at one another. Judging the new soul. Seeing what it would do with life, once it was born. Harry had a rather vivid image of Lady Life staring down the soul and knowing, in the omniscient way only deities were said to be, what Tom Riddle Jr. would do with his life. He imagined she was pained, by what she saw there.

So much so she tried to spare the tiny soul as she turned to Death and said, _'Run it over. Now.'_

Harry laughed, grinning wildly as his friends and cousin stared at him. Hermione looked distinctly worried, none of them asking what, exactly, Harry found so amusing. Having lived with him for four years, Hermione knew his mind took sudden, unexpected turns. Amusing thoughts tended to erupt in his mind at the most unlikely times. Sometimes the subjects were morbid. Or just utterly inappropriate.

Luna skipped along ahead of them, leading the way to the Pub they all knew (minus Dudley) and loved (minus Dudley) for its ability to give them access to a part of the world they adored (minus Dudley). Harry eyed his cousin, curious to know how the tall, blonde teen would react to the Cauldron once they got there and how he would handle all the people that were always present regardless of the time.

In some part of the world, it _was_ late at night. He still didn't understand how that made it alright to drink during the morning in _this_ part of the world, though. If they wanted to drink at night, then shouldn't they wait for nightfall instead of saying it was night somewhere _else_ in the world? Wasn't that just lazy thinking?

He debated asking Hermione, but then he thought better about it. He wasn't up for a long-winded talk about why it was or wasn't okay to say it was night somewhere _else_ in the world while drinking in the middle of the day. That was just a sad excuse, really. Logical, to a point, but still rather pathetic.

Once they had made their way to their destination, after catching a bus, Harry absently rubbed at his stomach as a surge of hostile magic cut through him. He could _feel_ it, now. Centered in his middle, a coiled center of power and energy and _nastiness_. He absently rubbed at his stomach, feeling sick and tired.

Hermione looped her arm through his, voice soft as she asked, "Feeling okay?"

"No," Harry was happy to be going inside the Cauldron, though his attention shifted to his cousin as he stopped, rather suddenly, in the middle of his room. Harry _saw_ Dudley's pupils shrink until it seemed they would simply vanish in a sea of pretty blue. "Don't think Dudders is, either."

His cousin was just _standing_ there, confused. He was eyeing the entire room, eyes wide. Harry rested a hand on his cousin's elbow. Guided his attention away from the flying cups and plates to the back of the room and out the back door. He waited for Hermione to tap the stones, watching his cousin's expression as the wall started to move and unfurl.

Dudley's earlier shocked multiplied. A sharp, sudden gasp was loud.

Harry let Dudley step through the threshold first, watched as he slowly made his way down the street as he looked around himself. He paused in front of large, glass windows. When he glanced at the door, then at Harry, he encouraged him to go through even as slivers of pain started cutting through him.

He absently rubbed at his skin, watching, pleased, as his cousin began leading them through every shop he could get through. Nothing went untouched. Dudley was an eager puppy marveling at the world he had just found himself in, eyes bright and lips parted in awe. He ran his fingers over crystal-topped tables and wall-hangings decorated with dragons and griffins and all sorts of magical creatures the teen wasn't sure of at that moment. His cousin scented candles. He let a few witches dab a bit of perfume on his wrists, giggling as Dudley swayed with delight.

The dopy, too-wide grin on his face was like that of a stoner hitting the greatest high.

They had managed to make their way into the heart of the Ally, the massive bank looming in the background. Dudley stared at _that,_ too. Watched, curious, as goblins wandered about the street and made their way up the steps. A few of those goblins stopped and stared, their gazes locked on Harry and his cousin. There was something… _unnerving_ about the look in their eyes, and their sharp, deadly smiles were far from comforting.

Harry decided, then and there, that goblins were just _uncanny_.

He nearly screamed when two sets of arms flung themselves around his shoulders, those arms attached to identical, redheaded twins. His insides _convulsed,_ and Harry's knees buckled. Shocked exclamations sounded before he was caught and set on the lip of the fountain, Harry's eyes clenched shut as circlets of pain worked through his system. He heard Ron calling out to Bill and Charlie, heard Cedric's concerned voice and then Viktor's hands were on his face.

The older boy made him look up, gaze darting over his features. "Vhat's vrong, 'arry?"

The dark-haired teen shook his head. Their group was overlooked, likely due to Bill as he glared at anyone who came too close. Viktor shot a harsh, cold, _blood-hungry_ look at a woman who came too close. There was something _terrifying_ about the large, beard-wearing young man. And that _beard_.

Harry ran a hand over it, marveling at the texture as Hermione said _, "Stop_ _obsessing over the beard!"_

Then Luna was next to Viktor's side, voice soft as she said, "His stomach has been troubling him."

Viktor didn't say anything, only offered a hand as he asked, "Your stomach hurts? Vhere at and vhen did it start?"

Harry took the offered hand and pressed it against the area the ache was strongest. He noticed how Cedric eyed that hand, curious as to why the other boy was looking wary. Worried. Harry's mind was drawn away when he gasped, eyes widening when Viktor's magic seeped into his skin. Pushed inward, inquisitive.

"From vhat I can tell, your magic, it is coiling here," Viktor kept his hand there, magic continually seeping inward as his brow furrowed in concentration. Cedric eased closer, looking confused. The others eased a tad closer, unsure on what he was saying. After a moment, Viktor continued, "Magic, it flows through the body. Yes? It is known much of it centers in the Sacral Chakra, here vhere my hand is at."

Harry looked down, eyeing the hand pressing against his stomach. "Is it _normal_ for it to be doing whatever the hell it's doing?"

"No, 'arry, it isn't normal at all," Viktor pushed a bit more magic into him, his other hand landing on his shoulder. Magic pushed through his skin there, too. Harry wasn't aware the older student was able to manipulate his magic to this degree without a wand. Something he stated. Viktor snorted. "I can do much with magic, 'arry. My father taught me vell.

"It is common for magic to vell in the center, to vhirl and move and flow," Viktor's second hand was moving along his middle, up to his chest and then his throat and then his brow. The Bulgarian was frowning, lips thinning. Then that second hand joined the first, centering over his stomach. "It's odd. Your magic, it pools here. The other centers are depleted, from vhat I can tell. This pain, 'ave you felt it from the start?"

"I felt funny after the Storm was over, but the pain kicked in later, maybe the following night," Harry knew the pain had started almost _instantly,_ but he had accounted it to the Storm being some foreign force that had wreaked havoc on his body. Then he remembered his conversation to Barty, voice lowering so no one else could overhear them as he said, "The odd thing is that Barty, _former_ Death Eater might I remind you Hermione, said the magic should be _out_ of me. He suggested…it was still here?"

Viktor's gaze dropped to his hands, lips thinning. "That could be vhat is happening. If the raw magic from the storm is locked vithin you, it might be attempting to…merge with you. Vith your magic."

Cedric hummed. "At least you're not a woman, if the stories were true."

Harry eyed the Hufflepuff. "Why would this be bad if I was a woman?"

Hermione and Luna and Dudley and the Weasleys all looked at the Hufflepuff, who flushed under the attention he was receiving. When he didn't imminently say anything, Charlie hummed out a thoughtful note before saying, "That general area, there, is about the same location as a female's…eh, _reproductive_ organs are at. Or where a baby would form. The magic could, theoretically, form a mass and be _passed_ through, in that case…"

Harry paled. "Bloody hell."

His gaze dropped to where Viktor's hands were at, the Bulgarian giving a weak laugh. Harry looked at his friends, grinning as he said, "I think I'd rather have this magic, if it _is_ there, to be added to my stores than go through whatever a _girl_ would have to go through to get rid of it…"

Hermione shuddered, her own hands pressing against her stomach. "Is that _actually_ possible?"

"Vith most magics? No," Viktor pulled his hands, and his magic, away. He turned to Hermione, offering a smile as he said, calmly and slowly, "There are spells for conception, yes. Potions. Charms to help. Raw magic, that is different. Storm magic, more so. There have been _stories_ about vomen giving birth to children vith powers unlike any ve have seen.

"These vomen, in the stories, are already vith child. The vild magic vould take the seed from the father and change it, make it _more,"_ Viktor leaned back in his seat, looking thoughtful as he pondered on some kind of folklore Harry really didn't want to learn about. _Ever._ He was pale as Charlie picked up where Viktor left off, a distant look in his eye as he said, "There are stories like that, in the villages around where I work, but I haven't given them much thought. Magic like the sort that happened to you, Harry, it is a rare thing that very little people know anything about. Hence the stories."

"Well, have there been stories on what happens to someone who _isn't_ a woman getting the magic?"

Harry wanted to know that, himself. He'd kiss Hermione if she wasn't like a sister to him. He was happy she was changing the course of the conversation to something _less_ horrifying. He didn't want to think of some poor woman, knocked up, getting hit by a blast of raw and pissy wind that decided to "mutate the seed and create something new!"

 _He didn't want to think about that at all_. It was…just _wrong_.

Magic wasn't _sentient_. Shouldn't be, anyway. Then again, if it wasn't aware, to a degree, then accidental magic in life-and-death situations wouldn't exist. So, yeah, he was glad he _wasn't_ a chick. Even if he was, the situation was improbable. He was a virgin. He'd never had sex. Never _thought_ about having sex. That would require being _naked_ with another equally _naked person._ Harry shuddered. The thought alone was almost as horrifying as the being a woman. At least there wasn't some _seed_ from some other person inside of him for the magic to "mess around with."

Thank _God_ and _Merlin_ and _All Good Things In The World._

Harry ran his hands through his hair, grimacing as his magic flared and shifted, his insides feeling like they were being tortured by a cheese grater as Charlie answered Hermione's question, "Either the vessel would gain the power, their magic rising to inhuman levels, or they'd die. I think that's why there are more stories about _girls,_ really. Some stories say it was cases of Wild Magic that formed the muggle's stories about demi-gods. Interesting to think about, really."

His stomach cramped, a low whine leaving him as he dropped his head on the table. A heavy hand rubbed his back. He heard Ron making a statement about food and then asking Hermione if her parents had run any tests. Would muggle equipment be able to detect the rampant magic in his body?

He sensed his friends getting ready to say something when an unwelcome voice drawled, "Well, if it isn't Pothead and his gang of misfits and inbreds. Fancy meeting all of _you_ here."

A quick, upward glance confirmed his suspicions. Draco Malfoy, and his father Lucius Malfoy, were there.

Fan-fucking-tastic. Harry was sure he was ready to die.

* * *

 **Author's Note**

This is _so_ late, and for that I'm sorry. Things have been crazy. Too crazy. My biological mom found her long-lost family and there was a reunion with that. Work has been hectic. I've been sick (turns out eating Peanut Butter Cups now makes me sick to the point of throwing up. Lovely) these last few weeks. My therapist is running a check on depression on me (and also working on getting my cognitive level tested) due to everything else happening in my life. I'm a coke addict. The soda, not the drug. If I did drugs, I'd be a hippie dancing under the moon with some shamanic music and a roaring fire and some pot and shrooms.

I've also been working on _this_ beast of a chapter while trying to figure out where to go with my blog and starting up my HubPage account. I also dropped out of school because I can't do jack squat with an English Degree. Not where I live. So now I'm waiting for January to start at a technical school to learn Massage Therapy. I think that's more probable and also more lucrative than getting an English Degree that's going to do nothing for me at this point in my life.

I'll finish it some other time. Just not right now.

Anyway, this chapter is a ride. I've always been a fan of creation stories in myths and was curious about how a magical world might view "demi-gods," given they are super-powered humans "born from gods". I also tied it into the story in a way that makes me laugh. I love messing with the discomforts Harry have and this seemed like a good way to horrify him without actually putting him in a situation where he's dealing with something that makes him uncomfortable.

Like a naked Dark Lord.

Harry really does obsesses over certain things. He's like me, in that way. Autistic without being "autistic." I hope everyone got a few laughs out of this chapter and are still guessing at what's coming. A bit more has been added about Storm/Spirit/Nature Magic. Even if it _is_ stories they're discussing, everyone knows the things that no one actually understands has a few stories behind it. I also wanted to add a bit of the Chakra System into this, and here was a good place. It's a topic I'm highly interested in.

So, Without Further Ado: _Favorite, Follow,_ _ &_ _Review!_


	9. Chapter 9

**The Conception of Magic**

* * *

 **Chapter Nine**

* * *

Harry sometimes cursed his ill luck.

He was sick with Wild Magic, he had horrifying images of poor women giving birth to magically enhanced children, and now _Malfoy_ decided to show his face. Well, _Draco_ Malfoy. Lucius Malfoy had yet to say a word, but Harry noted how the older Malfoy's gaze was focused on Viktor's hand. The hand on Harry's shoulder. He debated dropping his head on Krum's shoulder, but, at the last moment, thought better.

He didn't want to give these two any ammunition against him.

Malfoy and his father were severely outnumbered, anyway. Harry noticed this as he forced his head off the table, his insides twisting as he eyed the fair-haired teen standing just beyond their group. Viktor was standing, as was Cedric, Bill, and Charlie, but Viktor kept by Harry's side. He was warm. His magic was churning around them, a comfortable presence that soothed the worry nagging at the back of his mind.

As long as his family was around him, neither Malfoy could do _anything_ to him.

Viktor kept his hand on Harry's shoulder, expression closed, cold and unreadable, as he eyed the wizards standing before them. Charlie's own gaze had narrowed, the dragon-tooth earing he wore starting to glow. How pretty. Was it an _actual_ dragon's fang? Did Charlie wrestle it out of a dragon's mouth? Did he almost die to get that fang? It was pretty, though. Glowing, casting shadows along the side of his face.

It was enchanted. The fang was enchanted. Or was it naturally magical?

Harry stared at it in wonder. What would it do?

Luna hummed thoughtfully, head tilting to the side as she eyed the wizards and Dudley looked on with a blank, confused stare. Dudley eased closer to Harry's exposed side, thin hand landing on the back of his neck as Cedric stepped forward, voice calm as he said, "I hadn't expected to see you here, Lord Malfoy. What brings you to Diagon Alley?"

Lucius's gaze finally slid away and Harry relaxed, letting out a breath he hadn't realized he had been holding. Draco's gaze was on him, though. The tall, fair-skinned teen's head was cocked to the side. There was something unreadable in his gaze, and Harry wasn't sure what to think about the look on the Slytherin's face. Or how to even begin to piece together what was going through Draco's head.

Merlin, it was odd thinking of him as 'Draco.' Harry was used to 'Malfoy,' but there were _two_ Malfoys in the area. Maybe a third, if Draco's mother was nearby. He hoped she was. Narcissa Malfoy was pretty, all long blond hair and elegant movements. He remembered her, to a degree. Back in his first year, when he was getting fitted for his robes. Lucius and Draco, they were cold and unfriendly. Narcissa, she was cold, yes, but more in a refined and regal way. It was like a commoner standing before a queen.

His magic was starting to curl inwards. Harry could feel it as he dropped his forehead against Viktor's shoulder, no longer _caring_ if the Malfoys tried to tear into him. The Bulgarian wrapped an arm around him, saying _something_ to Cedric. Then his Hufflepuff was on his other side, urging him to drink some water he had fetched from _somewhere_ ad Dudley looked between all the people in obvious confusion.

"Is he ill?" Draco's voice was low, closer than Harry thought it would be. He rolled his face to the side, finding a blurry Draco a few feet away, and blinked. A pale hand pressed against his forehead, grey eyes widening as Harry's magic surged into the offered limb. He saw Draco swallow, then the Snake said, "If he's sick, he shouldn't be in direct sunlight. There's a shop, over there. They have outdoor seating…"

Draco was _considerate?_ Harry's head lifted, didn't do anything to draw away from his two friends he was curled between. Their magic was washing over him, calming the sickening whirlwind in him. Viktor and Cedric, did they respond instinctually? Did they know their magic, lapping at his, pushed the well of sickness away? Made it easier to tolerate?

Hermione and Luna, they had a similar response to his magic. Not as intense, but similar. Perhaps it was due to the difference in their power? As Harry turned, gaze landing on the Slytherin, his voice was softer when he finally said, "I'm not sick. Just…tired. What are you doing here?"

"Early school shopping," Draco eased closer, his gaze darting between all the various people in the area with interest. Harry noticed how his gaze settled on Dudley, saw the slight furrow of Draco's brow. Then Draco's gaze was on him, his voice stronger as he said, "You _look_ sick, Pothead. Can you stand _without_ Diggory or Krum holding you up?"

The other two tightened their grip on him, Krum's voice hard as he said, "Arry is tired, Malfoy. He has a habit of pushing himself too far. You know this vell enough. You are rivals, yes?"

"We might be rivals, but that doesn't mean I want to see him pass out in the street," Draco shifted his weight between both feet, gaze darting to his father. Lucius Malfoy had yet to say anything, his hands resting on the head of his cane. Observing them, taking in the situation. Harry's attention shifted back to Draco as the Snake continued, "I watched you through the Triwizard Tournament, Harry. Despite the fact you were underage, you were forced to compete. You didn't _want_ too, but the choice was made. Professor Moody wasn't _actually_ who we thought he was. I heard you faced his imposter, right before he fled."

Harry stilled. Barty. How would Draco have heard about that?

Lucius finally shifted, voice low as he said, "He was forced to compete?"

Draco and Harry ignored the older Malfoy, let Hermione and the others respond. Harry's gaze was on Draco, his mind shifting to the event. The only person who knew what had happened, outside of Ron and Hermione, and his group, was the Headmaster. He knew Dumbledore didn't say anything…

Voldemort. Harry's head cocked to the side, the silent message heard loud and clear. _Voldemort_ had said something about Barty, though Harry was curious to know _what_ Draco knew. Had he spoken to the man himself or had he gotten to the news from his parents? The larger point was the fact Draco _knew_ the Dark Lord was back…and he was _letting Harry know._

He also knew he had altered the story for Dumbledore, didn't let him know Barty was _allowed_ to escape by Harry's own whim. Smiling, Harry stepped away from the older boys and paused in front of Draco. It was odd, having to tip his head back to meet Draco's gaze. When had the Slytherin gotten _taller_ than him?

"I didn't have a choice. My name was put in the Goblet by the imposter," Harry conceded, watching as Draco's gaze widened slightly. Harry's head tilted to the side, lips quirking into a smile as he said, "The man who was posing as Alastor Moody, I ran into him. The game was up, so he left."

"You didn't try to stop him?"

"How could I have stopped him?" Harry blinked, owlishly innocent. He stepped back, watching, intrigued, in how Malfoy seemed to follow a step closer. Tried to keep the distance, not let it expand. "I was a Fourth-Year and he was a grown man. I wouldn't have stood a chance."

 _"You let him go…"_ Draco's voice was a whisper, grey eyes wide.

He felt someone's hand on his shoulder, knew it wasn't Cedric or Viktor once the magic pushed into his skin. Another arm looped around his waist, Luna's gentle power flowing into him as she rested her head against his chest. He glanced to the side, smiling as Charlie stared down at Draco with an unfathomable expression. Draco flushed, edging away when he found himself under such a predatory gaze.

Harry blinked. _Odd._

Dudley stepped up. "Perhaps we should…go? Bill was saying we could all go back to the house…"

Harry absently agreed, reaching out and taking his cousin's hand. Dudley relaxed, offering a shy smile in return before turning and eyeing Draco. The Slytherin returned the look, frowning slightly before stepping back. Then Harry's attention was on Draco as the Slytherin said, "I guess I'll see you in school, Hadrian. Be careful. Things aren't what they use to be."

He watched as the Malfoys left, Lucius questioning his son. Harry knew Draco wouldn't say anything. He could feel Draco's magic, even now. He could sense it churning, coiling inward. Harry turned to his friends, offering a sharp smile as he said, "I think Malfoy's right. Things _are_ changing. Let's go."

.

The trip back to Harry and Dudley's house was quick. Petunia and Vernon were surprised to see a large number of people coming through their doors. Harry noted the unease, watched it melt as Charlie kissed the top of his aunt's hand and Bill shook Vernon's hand. Hermione's parents were present, too, the two of them smiling as Hermione filled them in on what happened in the Alley.

Harry let Hermione pull him to their side, her voice low as she said, "I think we should get some bloodwork, mum. Harry's been sick _too_ long. Maybe there's something in his blood that can tell us what's going on? It could give us a clue into what's happening."

Jane's attention settled on him. "Would that be alright with you?"

Raymond closed in on them, voice soft as he said, "We carry a kit with us. With the books Hermione has on hand, and the spells the older boys know, we should be able to get the blood and run the tests here."

After a moment, Harry agreed. Maybe he had gotten a cold or something? The flu? The Storm Magic may have mutated it, locked it inside his body. Yet that still didn't explain why the magic would be _trapped_ in him, why the Storm still raged within. He was sure Voldemort's magic was in there, sealed in his veins by the Storm itself. He scar flared, for a moment, and then Raymond was tying a rubber tie tight around his bicep. When the needle broke the skin, sometime later, his head fell back against the back of the sofa.

Petunia sat at his side, holding his hand as Jane filled vial after vial with glistening, sparkling crimson.

Her eyes were wide as she gathered the samples, silent as Bill and Charlie cast a few stasis spells on the vials. They, too, looked surprised by his blood. Harry was rather certain blood shouldn't _sparkle,_ but, when he took a warm vial in hand, turning it up to the light, he could see _flecks_ of _something_ in the dark liquid.

Vernon and the twins moved the furniture around the front room, working together to lay down large blankets. Petunia and Jane made dinner, setting large plates on the floor and finding pillows for everyone to sit on. As they ate, Jane checked on the thin Notebook she carried, checking on the results as she ate.

When she chocked, everyone paused.

She handed the tablet to Raymond, voice high as she said, "Tell me I'm crazy."

Raymond Granger lost color, shifting from a darker brown to a ghastly white. He was up and checking the machine the blood was processing through, tucked away in the corner of the room. Harry glanced between the two Grangers, certain that he didn't _want_ to know what just freaked them out about the blood that was, previously, in his veins.

"It's not even _morning,"_ Jane was saying to Raymond as they came over with a Notebook each.

Her husband had a book in hand, flipping through the pages as he said, "It isn't. That still doesn't explain how there are large quantities of hCG in his blood! It should be impossible."

Hermione inhaled her drink the same time Petunia did, the two of them coughing. Then Petunia was clearing her throat, voice hoarse as she asked, "Did you say _hCG?"_

Jane and Raymond looked over at her, then at a very pale Hermione, before looking at the large collection of very confused men in the room. Harry was on his knees, paling, as he said, "Am I sick? Is this hCG a bad thing? Like…cancer?"

Raymond cleared his throat. "I think, if these tests are correct and not malfunctioning, that cancer would be preferable."

Viktor shifted so he was facing them. "What is hCG?"

Jane cleared her throat. "The blood tests are showing an increase in several hormones. His progesterone levels are elevated, which isn't unusual for a boy in puberty. All men have trace amounts. However, there are higher traces of estrogen and hCG, which stands for Human Chorionic Gonadotropin…"

"What is it?" Ron asked, his gaze on Hermione.

Their curly-haired friend shook her head, hands clasped over her mouth as she stared, horrified, at Harry. The dark-haired teen returned her stare, his concern shifting towards fear. He didn't know much about human anatomy, or _hormones,_ but the way they were talking…it wasn't good, what they were saying.

Petunia was grabbing onto his shoulders, pulling him into her chest. Her fingers were combing through his hair as she said, "Run the test again. That _can't_ be right. Harry's a _boy."_

"I _know_ he's a boy," Jane retorted, sounding rather irritable. "And we've run the test multiple times. The machine we have, it's of our own design. I could give him the _other_ test and have him piss, if that helps!"

"Is it pancreatic?" Harry demanded, eyes wide.

He heard Vernon and Petunia talking, last year, about one of their friends being diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Urine tests were supposed to be able to pick it up. Merlin, did he have _cancer?_ Harry turned, shrugging out of his aunt's grasp as Hermione grabbed onto him. His voice was high as he said, "I have cancer, don't I? Or some _magical_ version of it. _Is_ there magical cancer?"

"It's not cancer!" Raymond bellowed, his cheeks flushed when they all turned to him.

Harry lurched forward. "Then tell me what's wrong with me!"

"Arry, yelling won't make anything easier," Viktor was easing him backward, towards his pillow on the ground and the food there. He shook the Bulgarian off, eyes on the two doctors, then on his aunt and on Hermione. Viktor was at his back, voice low as he said, "Calm down, 'arry. Let the doctors work it out."

"What's wrong with me?" Harry met Hermione's gaze, teeth clenched.

She swallowed. "Estrogen and progesterone are hormones, as is hCG…"

"That's been said!"

Jane grabbed his forearms, yanking him to her as she dropped to his level. She held his gaze, tightened her grip. Her mouth opened, then the words seemed to get stuck. She ran her hands up his arms to cup the sides of his neck, then his face. She pressed their foreheads together, holding his gaze, confusion and fear and denial in her gaze as she whispered, "Harry, you're _pregnant."_

* * *

 **Author's Note**

Some of you guessed the outcome, in the last chapter. I was trying to figure out how to get here. Because, frankly, I wasn't sure how I wanted to _get here_. I had this idea in my head, for a while. Ways to fuck with Harry's head, to cause him a great deal of panic and fear. Nothing like being a boy being told 'you're pregnant' to make their brain shut down. This story is a slow-paced one, as I try to work on this when I get the chance.

I've found a few 'Mpreg stories around the web, but few of them are good. None of them go through the _actual_ pregnancy or have a plot revolving around it. It's more of what happens _after_ the baby's "born" into the world. So, I wanted to take my own shot at this unusual aspect of writing and see what I can figure out. I mean, he's a virgin and he's pregnant. Somehow. Magic's fucking weird, once you think about it, and _nothing_ is impossible.

I hope you all enjoyed this chapter and the way the scale pitched until the dreaded revelation at the end!

So, Without Further Ado: _Favorite, Follow,_ _ &_ _Review!_


	10. Chapter 10

**The Conception of Magic**

* * *

 **Chapter Ten**

* * *

Jane's announcement was met with a deafening silence.

Harry's mind, his thoughts and emotions and his _understanding of reality,_ in a sudden and unprecedented shift, _blanked_. He stared at this woman, at Hermione's mother. Simply…stared. Her words echoed in his head, in _all_ their heads, and he knew, _he knew,_ she had to be wrong.

 _He couldn't be pregnant_. He was a _boy!_

Exhaling, slowly, Harry reached up and put his hands over hers. _Blank_ was cracking. "Do it again."

"What?" Jane seemed confused, blinking rapidly.

The look that crossed Harry's face was dark, almost menacing. "My bloodwork. _Do it again."_

His magic shifted, hissing in the air. Audible. He saw tendrils of electric green magic snaking through the air in the corner of his vision, saw it splinter and crackle. Flashing, bursts of silver and black whirling through the vibrant, green tendrils that was his magic. Stepping closer to Jane, Harry said, "I might not know a great deal about how the body works, but I _do_ know that _boys can't get fucking pregnant._ Redo the tests. Keep redoing them until that…that… _hormone-_ thing goes away!"

Someone hit the ground. Harry turned, blinking as he found both Ron and Vernon passed out on the living room floor. Petunia was swaying, reaching out absently and latching onto Cedric's shoulder as she stared, eyes wide and face pale, at nothing in particular. Luna was smiling.

 _Of course_ she was.

Harry's gaze swept over to the others, fingers itching. Hermione and Viktor, they both looked to be chasing a new formula Harry didn't even want to know about. It was disturbing to see the same expression on their face, let alone the fact the twins were quickly adopting the same look. Only they would be thinking on how to _prank_ their fellow male classmates into _thinking_ they're pregnant – bastards, the two of them.

"We could try _graviendo,"_ Charlie eased his way through the others, expression severe. Harry turned to face him, unnaturally still as Charlie said, "If it can detect an early pregnancy in a dragon, if it can pick up the second magical signature despite a dragon's hide, then it'd detect an unborn child in a human."

Harry met his gaze. "Do it."

Charlie's brow furrowed. "It isn't _that_ simple. There're a few things I'd have to gather, first. Part of this spell is a ritual. Potions and runes are required."

"How long are we talking?" Harry exhaled, slowly.

Charlie's gaze stayed on him. "Three weeks."

His gaze shifted to Jane. She was sitting, now. Her husband was patting her hand as she said, "I could get an ultrasound set up in the same amount of time. A few people owe me a favor. I could commandeer their equipment for an evening."

Harry's scar was burning. He rubbed at the offending thing, not in the mood to deal with the Dark Lord's mood swings. The beginnings of a headache were biting at his senses as he let Luna lead him to a seat, his body almost weightless as he sat. His insides clenched, his stomach turning.

He could be… _pregnant._ The thought left a nasty taste in his mouth.

Dudley sat next to him. "What will you do?"

Harry slowly turned and stared his cousin down. Dudley turned away, blank-faced. Hermione cleared her throat, expressionless as Viktor roused Ron and Vernon out of their sleep. Harry tapped a pattern out along his leg, mind whirling as he tried to piece the information together. Then he thought about the stories on the Storm Magic in his body, stories of pregnancy and power they had discussed not long ago.

Exhaling, Harry stood and left the room. No one tried to come after him.

.

Three days passed. Hermione and Luna stuck around while the others camped out at Cedric's home or at the Burrow. Harry paced, brow furrowed as he held a journal in his hand. It had all the notes he needed to piece everything together. Small things, big things, _horrible things…_

On the night of October 31st, one of the few days when the rift between magic and the dead and the living was at its weakest, Storm Magic rose from _somewhere_ on some unplottable island and infected his cousin.

Everything started _there_. With Dudley.

June 24th, at sundown, the Third Task commenced. The Storm had reached England at that point. Harry could still feel the wind, could feel the Storm when he closed his eyes. He could sense it in his body, feel the currents of a foreign power in his own veins _pooling_ into his abdomen. Concentrating there, becoming something _different_ and _unnatural_. Harry placed a hand on his stomach.

Eight months. The storm had swept over the land for _eight months,_ and there were few reports detailing its presence or what occurred. Between Barty and the others, he knew wild, untapped magic didn't _stay_ in a body. It passed through them, enhancing their spells for a period of time, but it would, in time, fade away. It wasn't a natural part of the body. It would either pass through on its own or the mage would burn it away in a few weeks.

Storm Magic, apparently, was different. It was _in_ his body.

If the books Luna had gotten him were anything to go off of, the _only_ reason the magic would be locked in his own body would be for one reason and one reason only – _something was blocking it_. Harry paced through the kitchen, waiting for the pudding in the refrigerator to set. Blocked. Something had blocked the Storm Magic from leaving his body, which would mean whatever happened _during_ his fight with the Dark Lord was responsible…

The fight. Harry stilled in the middle of the room, his mind reeling as the battle came back to him.

.

 _Harry heard the Dark Lord roar his name, saw the still-present rush of green magic that would spell his death if he didn't find a way out. The Dark Lord stepped forward, the magic rippling and the Priori Incantatem doubled in size. Harry grit his jaw, and, after a split second to decide, he matched the Dark Lord's pace. The vortex expanded, the souls of the dead throwing their arms up to shield their faces._

 _Then the spell snapped._

 _His mother's frantic screams vanishing as the green-now-silver magic surged forward and slammed into him. He felt it seeping through his skin, felt it pushing past muscle and bleeding into his veins. He was cold and burning, senses deadened and overly heightened. He could feel the raw power that was the maelstrom rushing into him, could feel sparks of cold and hatred and fragmented fury cutting into his very being._

 _Black magic surged at the heart of the maelstrom's power. Black magic howled._

 _The magic was ice when it flowed into him._

 _His stomach cramped, heaving at the intrusion his body was undergoing, and his legs gave out…_

.

The Storm Magic hadn't come upon him alone. Voldemort's _magic_ had been caught in the middle of it, had ploughed into him with the force of a train and had _kept_ flowing into him. The pain he had felt, after that battle…

Harry sat at the table, staring, wide-eyed, at the wall. Petunia, having entered the kitchen, stilled when she saw him. Then she was at his side, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as she whispered, "Harry, what's wrong? Are you okay? Should I have Hermione call for the others?"

"No," Harry swallowed, turning slowly to see his family and their two guests come into the room. Luna led the way to his side, sitting in a chair by him as Hermione asked, "What's wrong?"

"I know who the father is," it was _impossible,_ really, but there wasn't any way to deny the truth that was screaming at him. His luck was shitty, anyway. Why not toss _this_ wrench into his life, too? Swallowing, he looked up at Hermione as he whispered, "It happened during the Third Task. During the battle. There's only _one person_ who could be the father. _One person,_ Hermione! _One!"_

He saw her eyes widening even as he sprung to his feet, panic cutting through him. He could sense the magic in his middle, the pain he had been feeling lessening each day. The bloodwork Hermione's parents did every morning came back the same. Positive. _Always_ positive. His hands were shaking as he started pacing, ignoring the journal resting on the counter as Hermione sat.

Luna's expression was pensive, Dudley and the other's confused.

Harry let out a bitter laugh before saying, "Trust _fate_ to thrust Voldemort's _heir_ at me. In me. Same thing."

He whirled on Hermione. _"Voldemort,_ Hermione! The magic that _blocked_ the Storm Magic from leaving my body was Voldemort's _Killing Curse!_ It cut it off, somehow. Isolated the magic itself. When the two entered my body that night, they were locked in. I already know what the man feels and now I have to have his fucking _baby?_ What the bloody hell did I do to earn _this?"_

Charlie said the spell he knew would confirm it. The ultrasound would, too.

Harry _knew,_ though. Pressing a hand to his stomach, the skin softer than normal, but the muscles underneath hard as a rock, told him plenty. His pants were a tad _tighter_ than what he liked. They pinched at his hips. He listened to Luna go over his notes. Hermione went through the few things they had from Dudley's time on the island as Dudley himself grabbed his wrist.

He leveled a hard look on his cousin even as Dudley said, "You'll be _okay_. We can hide it."

"Hide it?" Harry wanted to laugh. "How am I going to hide that I'm _pregnant_ while I'm at _school?"_

That was the main issue, wasn't it? He and Hermione and Luna would be heading to Hogwarts in a few days. Dumbledore had said that's where they needed to be. Sirius wrote, almost daily, about things going on in his home. Nothing big, but Molly and Arthur were there. Remus, too.

Harry made his way to his room, drawing in a breath. Pregnant.

Harry stared at the wall, one hand idly resting on his stomach. He could feel the magic in there, the foreign, parasitic entity that had forced itself upon him. It was a baby. It was the Dark Lord's child, brought into existence by a storm. He wasn't a woman, though. How would it _come out?_ Harry felt a tendril of panic curling up his spine as he turned to the window.

A dementor staring through the window at him didn't seem to care about the rising panic attack Harry felt coming. Harry blinked, noticing something _else_ off. There was a figure standing in the rain on the other side of the road, staring up at his window. The dementor wasn't giving him any problems, but this was new. Pressing his hand against the wall by the window, Harry narrowed his gaze.

Harry ignored the dementor, not paying it any attention since it wasn't giving him fortifying visions of his parents' murder or naked old people. He was _never_ watching _'The Shining'_ again. There were things a teenage boy never wanted to see. Wrinkly old women climbing out of a bathtub was one of them.

There was a person out there. Harry pushed the images out of his head, frowning as he eyed the figure that vanished after a car passed. Blinking, Harry leaned forward. Nothing. The dementors were drifting down the street, passersby's oblivious to their presence. A few dogs shrunk towards the ground as they passed, wagging tails curling between their hind legs. Cats avoided them.

There was nobody outside, though, staring at his window.

Had he imagined it? Was the stress getting to him?

When Harry turned, exhaling, mind whirling, he wasn't expecting to find a young man across from him with a sharp, manic grin on his face. The man stepped forward, dry as could be. Ripped jeans, a too-large shirt hanging off a shoulder. Chin-length hair, too-bright eyes.

Barty stood across from him, in his room, grinning. "Quite a mess you're in, Harry. Question is, what now?"

* * *

 **Author's Note**

I'm back! I haven't been writing anywhere near as much as I'd like, but I do try. I've been working on a short story of my own, too. I've read a few stories that were mentioned in the comments, and I've fallen in love with a few of them. I actually started reading _Black Bunny_ a long time ago, _before_ the mPreg came into play. I haven't gotten too far, but I'm looking forward to seeing how that goes. This chapter isn't too much, not as exciting as some chapters, but the ending, when Barty shows up, has been something in my head for a while.

In the next chapter, Barty and Hogwarts come into play! Finally! And maybe Voldemort. Maybe.

So, Without Further Ado: _Favorite, Follow,_ _ &_ _Review!_


	11. Chapter 11

**The Conception of Magic**

* * *

 **Chapter Eleven**

* * *

Plans and plots, twisting lines and unspoken orders. Voldemort observed the ledgers his Inner Circle had kept before his downfall, taking in the accounts, reading over mission notes and the mounting evidence of his _failure_. Many of the leather-bound tomes were frayed, the ink dulled despite the spells woven into the pages and bindings. Stalking across the room, heavy book in hand, Voldemort frowned.

Where had his plans _derailed?_ When had he lost sight of the larger picture?

Voldemort set the ledger aside, hands folding behind his back as he paced the length of his study. Nagini, resting by the fire, tracked his movements with unblinking eyes. Beautiful Nagini. He stopped by where she rested, diamond-shaped head cocking back to gaze up at him. She nudged his hip as she rose, body winding around him as she hissed, _'Are you well, Marvolo?'_

He stroked her head, voice soft as he replied, _'I am, Nagini. Troubled, but well.'_

She nudged his jaw. _'What troubles you?'_

Fingers gliding over cool scales, Voldemort turned from the fire and made his way out of the study. He smiled as she adjusted herself around his shoulders, quiet and waiting. As he made his way down the stairs, he said, _'I was cautious in my choices for the war, Nagini. Everything was plotted out. Then, at the end, things changed. I am uncertain about what, exactly, had gone wrong.'_

When it came down to the finest details, Voldemort couldn't _recall_ what had happened. Everything had been going according to plan. His enemies were crumbling before his forces, the line between the magical world and the muggle one separating. The divide was there, his numbers were rising…

…and then _he lost it_.

Madness, paranoia. The recounts of his followers were subtle in their references of him, in the last few years before his downfall. Some did not speak of him in general, as if afraid he would punish them for their insight into his operations. They had stopped _confiding_ in him, stopped offering ideas and alternatives to the more difficult battles that had cost them hundreds of allies.

As he reached the bottom of the stairs, he slowed. A tall man was waiting, leaning back against the banister and eyes closed. Darker hair, long fingers. Head cocked to the side, Voldemort offered a sharp smile as he said, "I wasn't expecting you so soon. Tell me, have you found it?"

.

"Where the _fuck_ did you come from?"

Harry stared at the young man across from, knew Barty had been keeping an eye on him, but he hadn't expected the man to appear so soon. He hadn't expected him to just suddenly _pop into existence_ in his house. _In his bedroom,_ for Merlin's sake!

Gaping at the man, completely _unafraid,_ Harry pressed, "Like, _seriously?_ Where did you _come from?"_

"My mother, last I checked," Barty deadpanned, looking utterly unimpressed. When he advanced, Harry jerked backward. Shifted, moving to the side, _away_ from the wall. The sharp, responding grin on Barty Jr.'s face told Harry that was the _correct_ move, a sentiment confirmed twofold as the man said, "How is it that you do the impossible on a regular basis? Overcoming insurmountable odds as if they're _nothing_. The things you do make me question _everything_. Like how you're _pregnant_."

Harry stared up at the wizard, eyes wide as Barty's hand landed on his still-flat stomach. A stomach that wouldn't be flat. Not for long. Oh, god, was he going to get fat? Like girls do when they're pregnant? Was he going to start _craving_ new, different foods? _How was the baby going to come out?_ Was he going to give birth to the Dark Lord's _baby_ while he was at _school?_

No, not at school. Harry set his hand over Barty's, dark brows furrowing as he said, "You know how."

"I do," Barty confirmed, head cocked to the side.

Harry met the man's gaze, voice low as he asked, "How are you in my room, Barty? The Blood Wards –"

"Are utterly _useless."_ Barty circled him, fingertips trailing over his stomach and back as he said, "I think the Old Man was using them as a diversion. If Dolohov was sent here instead of on a mission by the Dark Lord's order, he would have noticed there _weren't_ any wards. That they've been dismantled."

"Dolohov?" Hermione's voice was strained, and Harry looked over to see her in the doorway with Luna and Petunia behind her. Harry watched as Barty's gaze shifted to Hermione, a thoughtful look on his face. Then he grinned, a sharp quirk of his lips, before he said, "Antonin Dolohov. He's been recognized as the Dark Lord's leading general whose power is unmatched by all except the Dark Lord himself and Snape."

"He's powerful, then," Harry ran a hand through his hair. "If Voldemort sent him, he would have known…"

"Yes," Barty turned, brows furrowing. "He is…incredibly powerful. Sadistic, too. Intelligent and careful."

That was alarming. He knew there were a number of Voldemort's followers that broken free of Azkaban, but Harry didn't know their names or their histories.

Hand falling on his middle, Harry murmured, "And what would he have done?"

"He would have killed everyone here and dragged you to his master," Barty's voice was devoid of emotion, mind obviously a hundred miles away. Then the older wizard said, "Frankly, it would be in your best interest to _not_ go to school. You would be better off leaving England entirely."

Though Hermione said nothing, Harry noted how she frowned. Her gaze darkening, curly hair brushed away from her face. Thinking, mind whirling. Glancing back towards Barty, Harry demanded, "And where could I go that he wouldn't be able to follow me? Even if I _did_ leave England, what would stop Voldemort from hurting my friends? What would stop him from hunting me down?"

He sure as hell wasn't going to tell the Dark Lord he was having his magically created baby thanks to some insane storm. A storm that had changed Dudley, a storm that had turned _raw and unfiltered magic_ into a _lifeform_ in his _gut._ Harry buried his hands into his hair, plopping down onto his bed, not _caring_ how it put his face near a place he _didn't_ want to think about on Barty's body, as he said, "I'm so _fucked,_ Barty. Not literally. Just… _Merlin,_ this is fucked up!"

He felt the bed sink around him, knew Hermione and Luna were sitting by his side. Felt them curl against him, their heads resting on his shoulders even as Barty knelt at his feet. Thank Merlin. The ex-Death Eater caught and held his gaze, voice low as Barty said, "You have to start considering what's _coming,_ Harry. You're bonded to the Dark Lord through a _child,_ one that's growing inside of you. And when he finds out…"

 _"If_ he finds out," Harry swallowed around the words, something painful clutching at his chest.

Barty gave him a blank look as he continued, _"When_ he finds out, he will hunt you down. The more distance you put between yourself and him, the _safer_ you and your child will be."

"And my friends?"

"They can either stay and try and direct attention away from you, garnering the Dark Lord's attention in the process," Barty grasped his chin, holding his attention, gaze hard and unyielding, as he said, "Or they can run with you. If you stay, everyone will be in danger. The Dark Lord, he's _ruthless."_

Harry's hands folded over his stomach, pressing lightly against the flat expanse that shielded the unborn life from the rest of the world. His brows furrowed. Run away from England, from _Hogwarts?_ The thought was alien. Unspeakable. Hogwarts was his _home_. The children running the halls, the staff, the kids in his own year and those above, they were all part of his makeshift family.

His _responsibility_. Shaking his head, Harry said, "I can't run away. Not now."

When he looked up, Dudley was in the doorway. His aunt and uncle stood behind him, their gaze on the man kneeling in front of him and his friends, but none of them said anything. Dudley walked in when Harry held out a hand to his cousin, smiling as the golden-haired teen slipped his hand into Harry's palm. Closing his grip around Dudley's hand, Harry said, "I'll go to Hogwarts. I'll make a plan. I'll figure it out."

Barty flopped onto his backside, elbows resting on his knees as he said, "When you start showing?"

Harry swallowed, mouth dry. An interesting line of thought, that one. Merlin, _he was pregnant._ Harry pressed his hand against his stomach, voice slow and even as he whispered, "A glamour?"

Even _Luna_ looked unimpressed. Harry wanted to shrink away, shoulders closing in on his ears as Hermione said, "As much as I hate to say it, Barty's right. You shouldn't go to Hogwarts, Harry. It's too dangerous."

"Hogwarts is the safest place in the world," Harry recalled Hagrid saying as much.

Barty snorted. "Safe as long as the people running it are _sane."_

A hushed silence fell over the room, a silence Petunia took advantage of when she asked, "How would the headmaster take this sort of change?"

Barty seemed to consider the question before saying, "Albus is an ambitious man. He'll use whatever he can to his advantage if it means winning the war. He sent an innocent man to prison, for Merlin's sake. I wouldn't put it past him to use an unborn child to try and force the Dark Lord to kneel. With disastrous results, might I add."

Harry already knew he couldn't trust Dumbledore. Sirius had been in prison for so long despite the Headmaster knowing he was innocent. He had let insane teachers teach Defense, hadn't fought to keep Harry from the Triwizard Tournament. Running a hand through his hair, mind whirling, Harry barely caught Hermione's next question when she asked, "What about St. Mungos? I know the _Ministry_ isn't an option given how they're denying Voldemort's return, but surely Mungos would know what to do?"

Why was _Barty in his room?_ Harry was _sure_ he had seen someone outside…

"What, was that _you_ outside the house?" Harry trapped Barty under his gaze, eyes narrowed as the man blinked. Then Barty snorted, one hand covering his lower face. Harry's eyes narrowed further, his voice a tad sharper as he said, "There are _dementors_ outside, and they walked right past you like you weren't there! And how did you get into my room!"

"I _apparated,_ you magic-addled child," Barty finally retorted, lips quirked up in a grin. "It isn't hard to do."

Harry would stand, if he was able. But that would put his crotch in the man's face, and he wasn't okay with that. Instead, he cleared his throat and made a vague gesture to the room as he said, "Perhaps we should take this conversation to somewhere _not my room?"_

"Nudity still a trigger, Harry?" There was definitely a grin on the man's face now.

Harry scowled. "We're getting up."

Barty slid back and rose to his feet, expression almost jovial. Bastard. Harry left the room, left the notes, and his silent party followed him. Well, almost silent. Luna was murmuring a few questions to their ex-Defense Professor, questions he couldn't be concerned to worry about. Sirius had mentioned, in his last letter, that someone would be appearing at the house to take him, Hermione, and Luna to school.

He couldn't leave Dudley behind. Harry wasn't sure what to do with Barty, but he knew Cedric and Victor would be at Hogwarts. He would have his friends watching out for him. But he _would_ start to show. As he made his way down the stairs into the front room, his steps slowed as a wave of disbelief washed through him. He heard Barty curse, a line of foul language that had the raven-haired teen blushing.

Behind him, he heard Hermione scold Barty with a hissed, _"Language,_ Barty. There _are_ civilized people in the house!"

In the middle of the front room, staring at them in varying degrees of shock and confusion, one Sirius Black looked at one Remus Lupin before looking back at the gaggle of people coming down the stairs. It was silent for a moment as Harry's brow twitched, rare fury cutting through him.

When he snarled, "Why don't you people know how to use the goddamn door?"

Sirius exploded, "What the _fuck_ is going on here?"

They both fell silent as Remus stared, eyes wide and face paling rapidly. Harry didn't miss how the man's gaze dropped to his midsection, horror shining in the amber gaze of the gentle soul housing the spirit of a wolf. Behind him, Barty signed before saying, "Time's up, Harry. Cat's out of the bag, now."

"Harry?" Remus's voice was wavering, the man taking half a step forward. Reaching, slowly.

Slapping a hand over his face, Harry muttered, "Fucking werewolf senses. _Not_ my day. So _not_ my day."

* * *

 **Author's Note**

And I'm back! With another odd chapter. Harry's so done. With everything. It's nice to get back to this story, though complications have just shown up at the worst possible time. As for why Barty's back so soon, worry not. And one can't get out from under the delicate senses of a werewolf, as a canine's sense of smell is far superior to that of a human. Question is, _what comes next?_

So, Without Further Ado: _Favorite, Follow,_ _ &_ _Review!_


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